Dominance
by jake111
Summary: This is a story of Dominance, of dominance in combat, sexual dominance, mental dominance, and the responsibilities that come with dominance. This is a story of Submission, submission to fate, submission to emotion, submission to duty, and the comforts of submission. And if the high brow pitch doesn't get you, it's also a story about a hot lesbian dominatrix and assassin, so yeah...
1. Chapter 1

**Alright guys, this is a first attempt at a GTA Story. It will cover GTA V and GTA Online.**

 **By the way, despite the first part, this is not a lemon, this is an actual story and the first few paragraphs are necessary to establish the main character.**

"YES, YES, YESSS, HARDER, HARDER YOU HORRIBLE BITCH, HARDER!"

The man currently bound to a spanking bench continued yelling more meaningless dirty talk, surely believing that he was playing the part of tantalizing sub to utter perfection.

There were days where Aliza truly, truly, loved her job, days where she couldn't imagine doing anything else with her life.

"I'VE BEEN BAD, BEAT ME, BEAT ME LIKE THE BAD BOY I AM."

This was not one of those days.

Aliza picked up the pace, spanking the man harder with her riding crop. She had to wonder what the man's constituents would think if they saw him now.

It's always the ones who scream about family values and a return to the Fifties that love to be tied up and called bad little boys, Aliza mused, repressive childhoods maybe?

"OH, YOU EVIL BITCH, JUST LET ME CUM!"

Oh gag me with a spoon, Aliza thought. Politicians always feel like they have to pander to their audience, even when their audience doesn't really care what they're saying.

"OOOHHHH, YESSSSSS, YOU HORRIBLE, WONDERFULL BITCH." The man finally screamed, going limp on the bench.

Finally! Aliza thought, thanking whatever deity above that the leather hood covering the man's face kept him from seeing how relieved she was that the session was nearly over. BDSM is an complex, interesting, multi-faceted lifestyle, but I suppose every stereotype has to have some basis in fact. The thought almost made her laugh.

Aliza went through the basic routine for ending his session, meaningless dirty talk demeaning him, untying the senator, making him crawl behind the Asian privacy screen to get dressed, him bringing up the latest actions of the subcommittee he chaired to try and maintain his dignity, her making him show his collar to her to remind him of her dominance, him hiding it under a scarf, before she finally escorted him out of her apartment.

Aliza went back and locked the door to her play room, then went into her office and flopped on the couch. She was tempted to just unzip the front of her PVC bodysuit, take off her high heeled boots, and spend the evening on her polar bear rug in front of the fireplace, hot chocolate in one hand, her tablet in the other.

"Come on girl, just one more to go" Aliza said shaking herself out of her reveries. She got up off of the couch and sat down in the high backed leather office chair behind her massive mahogany desk. Aliza had gone for a traditional style in her office in contrast to the modern style in the rest of her apartment. She opened up her laptop and entered the date into her address book. She found the appointment she was looking for and skimmed over it.

November 12, 2010, Nicholas Tahirovic, a first time client, paid in cash like many of her clients. The last name sounded Bosnian. Yes, he could speak English, which was good; her Bosnian was a fair bit rusty. Nothing really outstanding about him, oh, what was this? His listed professions were Crisis Management Consultant, Risk Control Specialist, and Security Operative, that was an interesting combination. An interesting combination that lead her to look him up in a few places a bit more 'specialized' than Google. Oh… well this was a delightful surprise. She closed her laptop, this should prove to be quite an intriguing client.

His appointment was still an hour away. Good, that would give her enough time to clean up and get changed. Aliza stood up and went to start getting ready. As she moved through her bedroom she unzipped her bodysuit, folded it, and placed it in a hamper designated 'PVC only'. Then she unzipped her boots and placed them on her shoe rack. Then she stepped into her bathroom, it was spacious, with a Jacuzzi tub and a large walk-in shower. She stepped across the marble tiles, enjoying the warmth from the heated floors. A few quick taps on the touch screen next to her shower and John Coltrane began to play softly from speakers hidden throughout the room.

She stepped into the shower and cranked the knobs. Warm water cascaded upon her from the shower head as four nozzles hit with steady jets of water. Aliza let out a long, contented sigh as she was enveloped by warm watery bliss. Dear god she loved her shower.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged from her bathroom, tossing a fluffy white towel into an appropriately labeled hamper. Her makeup removed, replaced by a fresher, more professional selection. Her long black hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She strode nude to her walk-in closet where she began going through outfits to wear. Matching black lingerie, she immediately dropped any notion of wearing any of her fetish gear. Every client was different, and not all of them were there to satisfy a fetish for female domination and humiliation like the senator. Next she did away with the idea of jeans and a tight tee shirt, some clients were put at ease by a casual appearance and informal demeanor, but others preferred a more professional approach.

Finally she settled on a white dress shirt with a short black pencil skirt and a black jacket, something professional looking that could easily transition to something more casual by slipping off the jacket. Next she picked pair of black 3 inch heels with red accents. She decided against stockings, that way she could simply kick off her heels if she wanted to be casual.

By the time that Aliza was finished, it was almost time for her new client's appointment. Just as she was walking out of her bedroom, her doorbell rang signaling the man's approach. Aliza went to her door and pressed the button on the panel next to the door. The screen on the panel flared to life, showing her mudroom from the camera's perspective. Standing in the entryway was a tall, well-built, Eastern European man who looked to be in his early thirties. He matched the photo that she had required he email her. She paused, taking one last second to compose herself and make sure she was projecting the right image. Then she opened the door.

"May I help you?"

"Are you Aliza Brennan?" The man spoke clear, if slightly accented English. He had brown hair cut military short and a scruffy looking five o' clock shadow. He was dressed in an expensive looking black suit. Seemed a bit loosely cut for such an otherwise well tailored garment.

"Yes, and you are?" Aliza smiled, he was obviously uncomfortable, a casual approach, definitely.

"I, uh, I have an appointment. I'm Nicholas Tahirovic." Nicholas rubbed the back of his head nervously.

"Ah, yes, please, come right in." She stepped away from the door and motioned for him to enter.

"Come on, we'll talk in my study." Aliza added a little extra sway in her step, enjoying how Nicholas tried to hide the fact that he was staring at her ass. She hung her jacket on the coat rack as she entered her office. Seating herself on the edge of her desk, Aliza crossed her legs at the ankles. Just enough to give him a small peek at the black lace panties under her skirt without making it too obvious.

"I've got to say, you are not what I was expecting." Nicholas blushed as he found his own seat on the red leather couch.

"Oh and what were you expecting Nick, may I call you Nick?" Aliza kept her face friendly to contrast her suggestive posture.

"Niko actually, I just was expecting you to be…." Aliza giggled demurely at Niko's awkwardness, it was truly adorable.

"Less Israeli?" Her amusement said that it was a question that she answered on a regular basis.

"Pardon me, I meant no offense" Niko's apology seemed sincere, a bit of a rarity for Aliza to see.

"No, I understand, it's the name that throws people off. Aliza Brennan, it makes you picture red hair and freckles, not olive skin and black hair."

"It isn't a name that makes one think of Judaism or Israel" Niko admitted.

"Well, it helps that I'm not a practicing Jew. I was born on a cargo ship off the coast of Florida, the ship was raided by the Coast Guard and they found a lot of people who had no good reason to be there. No one copped to being my family and they had no way of identifying me. Since I was technically born in U.S. waters, I was a de facto American citizen. I was lucky enough to be adopted almost immediately, raised by a nice Irish Catholic family. And if you want to know the real dirty details between then and now, you're going to have to schedule a few more sessions. Care for a drink hon?" Aliza slipped off of the desk and strode over to her liquor cabinet.

"No, no thank you." does he not drink, Aliza wondered as she poured herself a snifter of brandy. Things like that were important for her to learn early on.

"So now that you know about me, tell me about you." She brought the glass up to her nose and sniffed the drink. Of course, it was all for his benefit, she knew everything about every bottle of liquor she owned. The little demonstration was all part of the show, displaying her appreciation for top shelf liquor made her look sophisticated. She'd gone with the brandy because it was a strong masculine drink, stronger than wine, but not too masculine like whiskey, and vodka would have been too obvious.

"There's really not all that much to tell." Yep, have to tease it out of him. Aliza sat on the couch opposite to Niko. She leaned on the armrest, kicked off her heels, and drew her legs up onto the couch. Time to kick up the aggression a bit, the beginning of a coy smile formed on her lips.

"How about you tell me about your time in the special forces?" That got his attention, he turned to her, surprise morphing into suspicion. A quick sip, an innocent glance, the devil was in the details when it came to the game, and she loved to play.

"And where would you get an idea like that?" His eyes betrayed his suspicion, but his face stayed neutral. Another sip of brandy, he wasn't too horrible at the game, himself.

"You told me. It's in the way you walk, every move calculated and decisive, a soldier's gait. The way you sat down when you came in, door within your vision, far enough away from me that you could see a knife coming a mile away, close enough that you could tackle me if I seemed to be about to pull a gun. You scream special ops honey, the Bosnian Conflicts?" The coy smile played across her face in full force now.

"Great, you're like Kiki and Michelle rolled into one, a fed and a lawyer analyzing me at the same time, fuck." Niko rolled his eyes and threw back his head, he was deflecting the question, confirming what she'd said, Aliza almost felt sorry for him.

Wait Kiki, lawyer, damn that has to be Kiki Jenkins, she thought. Kiki was one of her more interesting clients. She called at random hours, she was way more interested in Aliza's life than any of her other client. Then there was the fact that half of the time Kiki wanted nothing more than for Aliza to hold her, stroke her hair, and whisper that everything was alright while she sobbed into Aliza's shoulder. The other half of the time, Kiki wanted to be tied up and put through hardcore sadomasochistic BDSM while Aliza insulted her, Kiki's favorites names to be called during those times seemed be 'dirty little whore' and 'pathetic lesbian slut'. Being reminded of Kiki almost took the coy pleasure out of Aliza's eyes; she was still trying to help the poor girl push through all of the obvious repression.

Focus girl, Aliza thought, almost imperceptibly shaking her head and forcing herself to get her focus back on the task at hand.

"It also helps that you're strapped like a walking armory, pistol in an ankle holster, a knife in a sheath strapped under your left arm, another pistol in a shoulder holster, and a sub-machine gun in you're jacket. Two spare clips are hidden in your jacket. Did I miss anything?" That caught him off guard, time to move in for the kill, she licked her lips.

"The assault rifle in my car's backseat, the shotgun, rocket launcher, and sniper rifle hidden in my trunk, and five fragmentation grenades sitting in my glove box" he said, his eyes gauging her with a new interest.

"Now that all the pretenses have been dropped, you can tell me what you're hiding and why you're really here." The interest had increased and the suspicion was back in her eyes.

"And what makes you think I'm not here for what all your other clients come here for?"

"I can usually read what my clients want within the first five minutes of meeting them. If people want sex, they usually get straight to it and tell me what they want. If they want romance, an escort, or a companion, then they ask me to meet them somewhere other than my place. If they want a therapist or if they just don't know what they want, then we start talking and try and work things out. If a client comes with as many guns as you have, it means that they are expecting trouble, or they're going to try and hurt me, in which case I have to hurt them." Showing a few more teeth turned her smile from coy to predatory.

"Your're an interesting woman" deflection again, but she wasn't going to fall for it.

"And you're an interesting man, I know you're a former Serbian special forces operator. I know Nicholas Tahirovic is a fake name, no one who would go to the trouble of anglicizing their name would use a shortened version of their original name. Considering how well armed you are, you're most likely a criminal. Their fairly well hidden, so I'm going to guess that you're a fairly experienced criminal. So going by how few former Serbian criminals with backgrounds in special operations there are in LC, I'm going to assume you're Niko Bellic." An arched eyebrow to punctuate the end of her little diatribe, she was being flashy and she knew it.

"You're telling me that you get all of that from the way I look?" his accent becomes thicker when he's flustered, good to know. She threw back her head and downed the rest of her brandy.

"It's easy enough if you learn to read the details" and have access to a number of highly classified databases, she added mentally.

"Well, I suppose there's no point in bullshit anymore, is there?"

"Not really, so tell me why you're really here?" Aliza folded her legs up to sit Indian style, she propped her elbows up on her knees and rested her chin on her fists. Now that all of the pretenses were being dropped, a more relaxed and less provocative position was better suited for moving forward.

"I'm here about one of you're clients. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I guessed as much, and go ahead, just use the ashtray. Did one of my clients put out a contract on me?" She pushed the ashtray across the coffee table toward Niko.

"Thank you, no, the contract is on one of your clients." Niko pulled a cigar out of his jacket and lit it.

"Which one" Her client list included high level politicians, police officers, military officials, corporate executives, and, yes, members of organized crime. Any one of whom would have a number of people willing to pay top dollar to see them killed. She accepted all kinds as long as they paid well and followed the rules she outlined in the contract that all of her clients had to sign

"Thomas Vercetti, the v-" She cut him off.

"The former Vice City drug lord, he expanded his operations into Liberty City and downsized his Vice City operation when heroin became more popular than coke. He's got a diversified business ranging from high quality counterfeiting to porn, he's asked me to be in the latter more than once. A polite, but firm, no is always my response. He's transitioning his main business to meth, heroin, and designer pharmaceuticals."

"I was not expecting you to know quite so much about the man, but then again I wasn't expecting you to know quite so much about me." Niko tapped some of the ash off of his cigar, into the ashtray.

"I'm his confidante, there's a confidentiality clause in the contract that all of my clients have to sign, he doesn't tell my secrets, I don't tell his. Plus the fact that I'm classified as a therapist means that I can't be compelled to testify against him due to doctor-patient privilege. I'm assuming based on what I've heard of you that he won't live long enough to care about me telling you this, correct?" What brand does he smoke, and where does he get them she wondered. Ah well, she thought, as Freud said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

"I can see why you charge so much, but yes you are correct. I intend to kill him and a newly appointed triad boss that he is meeting with, Huang Lee." Nonchalance about killing people, another check on the list of reasons why this person is a possible threat one part of her brain told her. The rest of her brain's response was along the lines of, shh, this is getting interesting.

"Three thousand an hour and I'm worth every penny of it, so I assume I factor into this plan somehow. You were planning on threatening me or tricking me into killing him or giving you an opening." Yeah, let's see how that works out for you.

"That sums up the plan fairly well, yes. His office is a safe room, once I try to storm the place, Lee will go for the helicopter on the roof to escape, Vercetti will retreat into his safe room-" again she cut him off.

"And once he's in the safe room, you can't get at him. So you need me to kill him for you." Apprehension in his face, he thinks that his plan has crashed and now it's just burning on the ground, boy is he in for a surprise.

"That… is a good summation, yes. I can take Lee out even if he get's to the helicopter, but once Vercetti's in the saferoom, he'll seal himself in until backup arrives. Whether he lives or dies, I have to be out of there by the time his backup security teams get there, before they can sweep in and corner me." He's like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, she thought, it's adorable.

"So, how much is the contract for, and who put the contract out on him?" And we've reached the point where he's starting to question what his options are. He'd told her too much to just walk away, he obviously didn't want to kill her, so now he's 'how can I deal with this woman'.

"And why would you want to know that?" And once again his curiosity is piqued, good, she thought.

"For the same reason that I want to know your plan for killing them, maybe so I can tell the police everything the second you leave." Niko's hand twitched, the professional in him was most likely telling him to kill her, and the other parts of him were probably trying to smother that part, good. Her smile didn't change, but even she couldn't keep the predatory gleam out of her eye.

"Or maybe because I'm interested."

"The payout is fifty million in United States currency, split even between everyone involved. If you agree, then it adds up to ten million a piece." Now it was her turn to look incredulous, fifty million wasn't unheard of for a hit, but… damn it didn't happen often and you had to piss a lot of powerful people off to get one on your head.

"Who're the clients?" No bounty that big came from a single person, it was always a government or some consortium.

"There are quite a few, most of them want Vercetti's blood. Out of the entire payout, only a few million is for Lee. For Vercetti, the French government has an under-the-table bounty offered on him, same goes for the IAA, the Bolivians, and the Civilization Committee. The remainder of the Forelli family is offering a few million, same goes for a number of other criminal groups. Your client has made a great many people very angry." Aliza nodded as she mentally connected all of the people mentioned to the stories Tommy had told her.

"So" Niko leaned in towards her, "are you in?"

Aliza paused for a moment. She had a good life in Liberty, and she knew it, and a hit like this would definitely require her to get out of town afterwards. She wasn't rich, but she definitely made more than enough to live comfortably. She made three grand an hour for basic sessions and usually got in about four or five sessions a day, in total she cleared about seventy two to ninety thousand a week. She had powerful friends in the top echelons of the city, she'd established herself as a fixture on the LC party circuit. Her client list included everyone from senators to debutantes like Jill Von Crastenburg.

You hate half of your clients, a part of her argued.

Yeah, but I love the other half, another part of her countered.

All in all, she lived well, she had a successful business, her love life was currently empty but she could have anyone she wanted, and… and….

And she was bored out of her mind, things had gotten too boring in Liberty City, too rote. She was tired of dealing with rich people whining about ruby breast implants. She was of having to deal with so many boring clients like the senator she had dealt with that morning or Chloe Parker who just wanted someone to complain to about her yacht and her employees. She was tired of doing the same things day in and day out, she needed a change. Yes… the more she thought about it the more a fresh start somewhere else seemed like just what she needed.

Finally she came to her decision.

"Fine, I'm in" finally, a smile of relief out of the somber Serbian assassin, she thought with amusement.

They spent the next few hours discussing the plan, making sure everything was understood clearly, working out any possible kinks, and working through half a bottle of brandy.

Finally, with the entirety of the plan completely worked out, she escorted him out of her apartment. The second the door was closed she let out a long sigh of relief; she could drop her facades and relax. The first thing she did was go into her bedroom and slip out of her clothes. Once she was completely naked, she grabbed her tablet and lay on her polar bear rug. A swipe of a finger on her tablet and the gas fireplace lit up. She began making arrangements. The first thing that she had to decide was where she was going to go. She began flipping through web pages, checking out possible destinations.

Vice city, no, it can't be that, that's Tommy's old stomping ground.

Los Venturas, maybe, running off to a den of vice and sin seems like it might be fun, but its cliché and the competition for her business is a lot steeper there than most places.

San Fierro's nice, but it's too boring, not enough excitement for her taste.

Nowhere in the Midwest, if she was moving, she wanted to move to a place where over sixty percent of what she wore everyday consisted of bikinis or nothing at all.

Nowhere in the Deep South or the Bible belt, for so very many obvious reasons.

She could go back to Israel, if she wanted excitement then that was where she'd find it, but no… not… not right now at least, maybe in a few more years.

Wait… didn't she have one contact in Los Santos. Yeah, Lamar Davis, he was one of her clients from when she was doing cam work. He still followed her on Lifeinvader. Los Santos, hmmm… yes, that could work. Fun and sun, days on the beach wearing a bikini, nights with beautiful San Andreas girls between her legs wearing nothing at all.

Yes, that would work perfectly. First, she typed up an email to Lamar, she would need someone to show her around and introduce her to a few people to get started. Next, she hired a moving company to ship her stuff to LS. She didn't have a place in LS yet, so she just rented out a storage space. Then she set up a reservation at a comfortable, but not well known, hotel to last until she found a place. Finally she arranged for first class plane tickets on the seven o'clock flight to Los Santos the next evening.

And that was that, she had arranged a fresh start for herself in a new city in less than an hour and a half.

A blip on her tablet told her that she had a message from Kiki, she wanted to come over and she was willing to pay the extra cost for the surprise appointment. From the wording of message, Aliza could tell that it was going to be a serious BDSM session.

A smile crossed her face, if tonight was going to be her last night in Liberty City, she might as well make it a fun one. She messaged Kiki back, telling her to forget the fee, just that her mistress demanded that she be at Aliza's front door within the next hour, on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but her collar.

Aliza stood up, with a smile on her face and a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and went to get ready for Kiki.

Now was the time to enjoy herself, because tomorrow, everything was going to change.

….

"Good afternoon ma'am, may I take your bag."

Aliza stepped out of her, soon to be former, apartment building. The man standing before her was the picture perfect example of what a chauffer was supposed to look like, right down to the black billed caps and military shined shoes.

"Nice to see you Tom, no, I'll keep it with me. I've only got one appointment tonight. I need to be at the airport by seven though." I'm going to miss him, she thought. Tom worked for the high end car service that she contracted. He was a consummate professional who always did as he was told, never asked any questions, and fulfilled even her strangest requests without so much as a blink.

"Of course ma'am, may I say that you look ravishing as always." He always said that, though even she had to admit that he was right. A sleeveless, strapless, painted-on black dress that ended just below her thighs, a pair of black elbow length black satin gloves, black and red six inch heels, no underwear of course, and diamond necklace just above the neckline, a bit of make up for her eyes, a light shade of red for her lips, her hair done in a stylish up-do, and a diamond tiara to top the outfit off.

"Thank you Tom, I'm going for a slutty Audrey Hepburn look, what do you think? Did I pull it off?" She slipped into the limo through the door that Tom was holding open. Her bag went on the seat next to her and the other two items she had with her went on the floor in front of her.

"Add in a cigarette holder and you'd be a perfect match Miss Brennan." Tom closed the door behind her and a few minutes later they were enjoying all of the glory of Liberty City's three o' clock traffic.

"Ma'am, are you going on a trip or will we be picking someone up?" Only the necessary questions of course, Aliza thought as she settled back into the soft leather seat, enjoying the snug feeling of her dress around her shoulders.

"I'm going out of town for a while, I paid out the rest of the contract I have with your company, so don't worry about that."

"Of course ma'am, the thought never even crossed my mind." Liar, she giggled, I'd put money down that the contract was the first thought to enter his head.

Aliza looked down at the two items sitting on the floor of the car, one was a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label, and the other was a small ice tote. She spent the rest of the twenty minute ride with her eyes closed, in a kind of meditative state, a habit she had formed a few years ago.

Finally, they arrived at the luxury apartment high-rise that served as Tommy Vercetti's main base of operations. He owned the building, but he reserved the top two floors for himself and his associates. He also maintained exclusive use of the helipad on the roof.

Tom opened the door and Aliza stepped out of the car, liquor and ice tote in hand. Time to get into character, she thought, licking her lips. She strode forward, swaying her hips, shoulders back to emphasize her breasts. The doorman greeted her with a tip of his hat and opened the door for her. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she sashayed to the elevator. She enjoyed the stares she got, no one said anything though, they all knew her and who she was here to see.

She stepped into the elevator; she didn't say anything to the operator, he knew which floor she was going to. A few minutes of classical muzak later, she stepped out into Tommy's apartment.

He'd remodeled the place extensively, adding a spiral staircase to connect the two floors, and changing the overall style of the place to suit his tastes.

"Miss Brennan, the men are in the conference room." Vercetti's butler escorted her to the meeting. Tommy's conference room was less of a meeting room and more of a lounge. All dark reds and browns, couches and arm chairs around a large coffee table, pictures of Vercetti's past to impress people, and the obligatory wet bar of course.

"Miss Brennan to see you sir" the butler left immediately after introducing her, he knew where he wasn't supposed to be.

Hmm, most of it was what she had expected, a few Vercetti soldiers in the room standing around Tommy, a few of what she assumed to be Triad soldiers standing around the other man, who she assumed was Lee.

"Tommy!" She squealed, setting the ice and the liquor on the bar. Aliza strolled across the room before leaping into Tommy's lap.

"Liza, nice to see you too" Tommy wrapped his arms around her and she gave him a peck on the cheek. They both knew that the exuberant PDA was just a show for the others in the room. After all, it would be unbecoming for a Mafioso to be paying a whore as much as he was just to have someone to talk to.

"I thought you were more of a professional Vercetti, I like my whores as much as the next guy, but I tend to check them at the door when it's time to talk business." Asian, late twenties, cocky and disrespectful, yep this guy is definitely Lee.

"A little respect Lee, this girl is the closest thing to a consigliere I have. She already knows all of my dirty secrets; why not add some of yours?" There was that edge in his voice, just barely hinting at the steel in him that had aided in his rise to power. Aliza personally preferred women, but she had to admit, she found that part a little sexy.

"Besides, I come bearing gifts." Aliza let go of Tommy and stood, immediately moving towards the wet bar. She grabbed three glasses and opened the ice tote.

"I know how Tommy takes his, How do you take yours… Lee, was it?" Questioning, but ditzy, tone, he would be paranoid most likely. However, her edge came in the fact that Tommy knew she was intelligent, Huang didn't.

"Yes, and on the rocks." Ha, I should be charging more since I'm killing this guy too.

"Thanks gorgeous" Tommy took the drink, and she handed another to Lee.

"To whatever shady deal you two just worked out." A giggle, a smirk like she was in on some big secret, she raised her glass and the men followed suit. Then she downed hers and once again, the men followed suit. Tommy drank his like she knew he would, drinking it all in one gulp, including the ice. Huang, on the other hand, only drank a bit of his.

"You have to respect a woman who takes her scotch neat." And that's when they began to hear the gunshots.

This was of course followed by an armed man sprinting into the room.

"Mr. Vercetti, sir, we're under attack. Two guys are coming up the northwest stairwell."

"So send some guys to deal with them, do I have to do everything myself?" Tommy was on his feet, now, and boy was pissed.

"We did, but these guys wiped 'em out. We sent twelve guys to take them out and these guys dropped all of 'em like they were nothing." A scared expression, a little gasp of terror, Aliza had to hide the fact that on the inside, she was smiling.

"Mr. Vercetti, thank you for your hospitality, but I think it's time for me to go. We'll talk soon." Lee stood, Tommy nodded, and Lee headed for the spiral staircase, his bodyguards in tow.

"Mr. Vercetti, sir, we should get you and Miss Brennan into the safe room." The source of this sage advice was one of the guards who had been in the room for the deal.

Tommy seethed for a moment, he obviously wanted to go after them himself, then he looked at Aliza and saw the fear on her face. Just like she thought, her fear would give him to justify taking shelter in the safe room to himself.

"Come on Liza, let's wait these assholes out, grab the scotch, might as well drink while we wait." Tommy went for his office, gesturing for Aliza to follow. She grabbed the bottle and did as she was told.

Tommy's office was comfortably decorated; it was similar in tone to the conference room outside, dark and masculine with lots of photos and souvenirs on the walls, and once again the obligatory wet bar. Tommy was slumped in the chair behind the desk.

"If I was just ten years younger, I would have those jackasses in body bags by now." Tommy was staring at an old pistol sitting on his desk.

"I know Tommy, you okay?" The irony of that question should be gagging me. She set the bottle on Tommy's desk and began to work her fingers into his shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah Liza, I'm fine. Just one of those days that I fuckin' miss 1986" his shoulders were freaking tense, she dug into them with the skill of an expert masseuse. He really needs to see a chiropractor about his back, once again, she thought, she should be gagging on the irony of what was going through her head.

"That is a really unhealthy way to think." He's been so depressed since he had his hip replaced, she shook her head. Tommy may have aged well physically, but he was not taking the idea of getting old well.

"Twenty five years ago, beating a dozen dumb fucks to death with a golf club was a light day for me, now look… ugh… look… what the hell is wrong with me?" Ahh, there it is, the ice cubes have melted. Letting go of Tommy's shoulders, Aliza stepped back and went to gather her things.

"Liza… Liza… That bastard, Lee… He must have slipped me a mickey…" He was losing conciousness, she gave him another minute or two maybe before he was out. After that, the convulsions would start; he would be dead within ten minutes. The poison she'd used was a derivative of cyanide, slightly altered to make it harder to detect, it was one of the mementos she'd kept from the old days.

Time to clean up, she dumped the ice down the wet bar sink and washed it down with hot water. Then she rinsed out the ice tote and refilled it halfway with ice from the bar's mini fridge. With that, all of the evidence of her involvement had been eliminated. Lastly, she took a small cell phone from where it had been taped to her upper thigh. It was a cheap little disposable camera phone. She snapped a quick picture of Tommy's corpse and sent it to the number Niko provided, then she tape the phone back into place.

She heard shouting; the backup that Niko talked about had arrived. Time to get back into character, she panted to give herself an out of breath shocked look. A few tears to smear her mascara, a few slight adjustments to her clothes to give her disheveled look. She looked at herself in a mirror hanging on the wall, perfect she was the very picture of distress.

Satisfied, she shrieked at the top of her lungs. A minute later three men armed with MP5s burst into the room. Aliza threw herself at the leading man and began sobbing into his chest.

"He just…. Huuh… I mean… huuuh…. Agggh." When the man wrapped his arms around her and gestured for his partners to check the body, she knew that they had bought her act hook line and sinker.

"Shit man, Tommy's dead, looks like he was poisoned."

"Fuck, we have to clean this place up before the cops get here. Mario, take some guys and get all of the shit we can't let the cops see together, put it in one of the vans, and take it out the back. Andrea, take Miss Brennan, get her out of here. I'll get Tommy's files and clear out any about our unofficial businesses." He passed her to one of the other men, who grabbed her by the shoulders and led her out of the room. As they passed through each room, Aliza grasped just how effective Niko was. Bullets riddled the walls and furniture; she counted at least six corpses per room.

Andrea escorted her down to the lobby and out to where Tom was waiting with the limo. Tom, of course, simply opened the door and helped Aliza in without question before taking his place in the driver's seat and pulling off into Liberty City traffic.

Once in the car and away from the building, Aliza immediately composed herself. She cleaned off her now smeared makeup, replacing it with only a fresh coat of lip gloss. The dress and accessories went off next, Aliza caught Tom stealing glances of her in the rearview mirror, she didn't begrudge him that. After all, if her naked form was enough to crack even Tom's implacable visage of professionalism, she had to be irresistible. Besides, changing was by no means the craziest thing she had done in this car.

A text appeared on her phone, it contained two sixteen digit numbers. Aliza's grin went from ear to ear, mission accomplished. She replaced her Audrey Hepburn look with a pair of designer jeans, a v-neck tee shirt, a baggy sweatshirt, and a pair of tennis shoes out of the bag she had left in the car. The dress and accessories went into the bag. Properly attired, she thought about a celebratory drink from the car's mini bar. Not until the job is done, the professional in her said. She contented herself with a bottle of VEEN water.

Thirty minutes later, the car pulled to a stop in front of Francis international airport. One last thing before I go, she thought as she grabbed her bag.

"Ms. Brennan" Tom held open the limo door for her.

"Thank you Tom, do me a favor, will you?" She was really hoping he would accept, it wasn't crucial, but the alternative was far more unpleasant.

"Of course Ms. Brennan"

"Take this; it's the number for an account in the Cayman Islands. The account contains one million U.S. dollars. Wait a month and a half before you withdraw the money, don't make any conspicuous purchases for at least another year." She kept her voice barely above a whisper. She clasped his hand as if in a handshake, passing him the slip of paper.

"This isn't my first rodeo ma'am; I know how to handle blood money." Well… that's surprising. Aliza had been prepared for a lot of possible answers, but definitely not that.

"Thank you for everything Tom"

"Of course ma'am" with that, he closed the car door behind her and started for the driver's seat.

Aliza turned and headed for the terminal doors, she didn't look back.

Two hours later, Aliza was sipping champagne in the first class cabin as the 747 carried her off to her new life.

 **This wasn't read by anyone except me, so I apologize if this is sub par, if anyone wants to volunteer as a beta reader, I could certainly use some fresh eyes.**

 **Do you guys like it, if so let me know, If not, then tell me what you don't like about it. Read and Review guys.**


	2. Mile High Musings

Ahh, the sweet taste of a successful operation.

Well, actually, it was the sweet taste of cheap airline champagne in a very nice glass, But that didn't matter all that much to Aliza at the moment.

She was comfortably reclined in her seat, she always flew first class when it was an option, for so very many reasons, chief among them being that first class allowed her relative privacy during the flight. She liked to have some time after operations to unwind and enjoy the high.

The high… god she'd missed the high that came with a successful mission. Medically speaking, she knew that it was most likely a rush of dopamine caused by the knowledge that you were no longer in a life threatening situation. That's the way Ben had explained it to her after her first time out.

She wasn't a psychopath, her education in psychology and several very good Israeli psychologists had taught her that.

But she'd enjoyed it, the thrill of stalking another human being and killing them was like nothing she'd experienced before, it was better than any of the shit that she'd experimented with in high school, even better than sex. Aliza had become addicted to it, it had become her drug.

And like any recovering addict, you jumped back into it at the first opportunity, Aliza felt a pang in her stomach.

Who was she kidding, even if she'd been completely happy with her life in Liberty, she still would've taken the job. She loved the work, and when it was the right client, she was paid extremely well.

It pained her to admit it, but Ben was right…

 _"I'm done Ben" she'd said over the phone, so much conviction in her voice._

 _"My dear Zl, you know I have to ask why. You are an artist, you've done great things for the House of David. You are one of the Institute's greatest assets."_

 _"You know why, it's only a matter of time before what happened to Ariel happens to me. I'm getting out while I'm still alive. I'm going back to America, I'm going to be normal. I'll still provide whatever important intel I come across to the Institute, but I'm going to be normal." Yes, because becoming a high class call girl is the very definition of normal. She hadn't really made that intellectual leap at the time._

 _"Is that truly what you want? What happened to Ariel was horrible, but there was nothing we could've done." He had been right, there was no way that they could've known the plan had been leaked. But that couldn't make her un-see the contents of the box that had arrived at the Israeli embassy._

 _"I know that Ben, but I'm still walking away from this life."_

 _"Liza, you know that I won't stop you, but I worry whether or not you can actually do it. People like us, we weren't meant to have normal quiet lives, if we were, I would be a rabbi and you would be a therapist."_

 _"We are predators, warriors, we are the ones who appear where the sdyms least expect, and strike where they cannot hide."_

 _"We weren't meant to live for ourselves, we were meant to kill for others."_

 _"Not me, I'm leaving."_

 _"If that's what you wish, then go with my blessing, but remember, you will always have a place in the House of David, you will always have a place in my home. Shalom Aliza."_

 _"Shalom Ben" she'd hung up, dumped the burner phone in the trash, took one last look at the airport bathroom she'd just come out of, then turned and headed for her gate._

Ben… she wondered how he was doing, she hadn't heard anything from her old contacts, but that wasn't surprising. Men like Ben-Tzion weren't the type to make noticeable waves.

No, everything that people like him did happened deep below the surface.

The voice of the pilot crackled out over the intercom speaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing some minor trouble with the weather. Nothing to be worried about, but we might experience some minor turbulence, and we'll be getting to Los Santos a little later than expected, as it stands we'll arrive at Los Santos International Airport in five hours."

The few other first class passengers groaned, it made Aliza want to laugh. Put some of these people on an MC-130, she thought, see how they fair.

That's not to say that she didn't love her creature comforts, ooh yes, she absolutely loved her thousand thread count sheets made of Egyptian cotton, her designer clothes, first class flights, she loved all of it. However, unlike the rest of her fellow passengers, she knew how to appreciate it because she had a polar opposite to compare it to. Nothing made a person value the luxuries in life quite like spending a few nights in a cave in Afghanistan.

"Is there anything I can get you miss?"

Aliza looked up and saw an attractive African American flight attendant.

Aliza smiled, "Why yes, I think there is…"

….

"HMMPH, HMMMPH, HMMMMMMMMPH."

Thank god I gagged her, Aliza thought, she's a screamer.

It had taken her about an hour to learn of the premium service that the attractive African American woman, who's name turned out to be Lily, offered. A half hour longer to work out a price, and one more half hour to set up some of the gear she had brought in her carry-on in the first class bathroom, their privacy guaranteed by an out of order sign.

It was truly astounding what a person could take on a plane. A bottle of coke from outside of the terminal, hell no. A ball gag, silk ropes, and a vibrator, certainly.

She undid the clasp and removed the gag from the stewardess's mouth, then set to work on her restraints.

"Holy shit, that was really good, you are really good." The girl was panting and covered in sweat. She bit her lip as Aliza slipped the vibrator out.

Aliza smiled, no one could ever say that she didn't give it her all every time.

"You're not the only professional here sweet heart." She tucked the gag, the vibrator, and the ropes back into her carry-on.

"Wow, I'm not sure if you should be paying me, or I should be paying you." She is an amateur, never ever imply that they don't have to pay, Aliza chuckled.

"I always pay my debts." She shouldered her carry-on, put ten hundred dollar bills on the sink, and left Lily to redress herself.

A grand for three hours was pretty cheap considering the quality of the girl. If she ever ran into Lily again, she'd have to tell her that she should be charging a lot more.

She would tell her this, of course, when she wasn't one of the girl's clients.

She's impressive, but even I'm not going to just throw away money, the thought made her smile even wider as she found her seat again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Los Santos International Airport, the weather is…"

The smile on Aliza's face couldn't get any wider, a successful operation, a glass of champagne, and three hours with a beautiful girl.

Not a bad start to her new life.

 **So what do you guys think? I'm probably going to stick with these short little chapters. I used to focus more on length, but I like this style better, I just start with a prompt and set myself a thousand word minimum.**

 **Like I said with my last chapter, I have yet to find a beta for this story, so I do apologize if it's sub par.**

 **By the way, anyone figured out Aliza's previous employer, should be obvious after this chapter.**

 **R &R people.**


	3. Brothers Grim

The airfield was unremarkable. One of hundreds of private airstrips in the Bahamas and along the coast of South and Central America. Officially, it belonged to an antiquities dealer that specialized in Aztec and Mayan artifacts. Unofficially, it was a stop in a major cartel arms pipeline.

And then there was what he was there for.

Ben stepped off of the private plane that had delivered him. As soon as he was a safe distance away, the plane's door pulled itself closed and the jet taxied away and took off once more. The pilot had no idea what or who he had just delivered.

In exactly fifteen minutes, a different plane would land and he would board it to be taken to his next destination. That pilot would also have no knowledge as to who or what he was picking up. It was a costly, complicated, process that he found mildly aggravating. However, he knew that every precaution had to be made to ensure total secrecy for these meetings.

His cane rapped along the concrete as he approached his contact, he didn't need it, but his lack of a disability would provide a delightful surprise for any would-be attackers. So would the compact 45. Caliber pistol tucked into a holster in the small of his back.

He liked to have the odds stacked in his favor whenever possible.

Between his wrinkled face, his easygoing smile, and the spectacles perched on the end of his nose, he seemed by all outward appearances to be a kindly grandfather or some other retiree. This caused most to underestimate him, which was the way he preferred it.

His looks certainly didn't betray his past.

Ben-Tzion Adler was born in 1945 on a cargo ship in the middle of the Mediterranean. His parents were immigrating to Israel at the time. He grew up in Bat Yam, it was there that he'd meet his future wife, and through her, his future best friend. He and Dagan Meir had met when they were eight and fourteen years later they would serve in the same paratrooper platoon during the Six-Day War. A few years later, he served as Meir's second in command in the Sayaret Rimon, it was also around this time when his wife gave birth to their first and only daughter. They had what Ben had believed to be their last grand adventure together when they crossed the Suez in 1973. After the Yom Kippur War, Ben retired from the army, he'd gone back home to be with his wife and daughter. He'd entered into rabbinical school with the intention of getting his semicha, or rabbinic ordination.

That all changed one night in 1980 when he ventured out into the night with his father's pistol in his hand, vengeance in his heart, and fire in his eyes.

The same fire burned in his eyes now, he looked and acted the part of the kindly old man, but he kept himself in shape and maintained his training. His days in the field were long behind him, but he made sure that he was still almost always the most dangerous person in the room.

"How've you been Leo, I heard you go by Edward now, that you're in the paper business." He'd known his American counterpart for decades, and in that time the man gone by over two dozen different aliases.

"Fine, thank you for the thing in Bahrain." Edward offered him a cigarette, he declined, he hadn't smoked outside of an op since '82.

"Just repaying the favor for the job in Thailand." This was the point of most of these meetings, favor trading and information exchange. It was an open link between their two countries, and since the two of them refused to deal with anyone but each other, it helped give each of them some political leverage.

"Will your people be able to cover the thing in Dubai next month?" The Company usually preferred to work via proxy, usually via the proxy of a proxy. But tactical support was still required on occasion.

"Which one, the executive or the shipment?"

"Shipment."

"We can manage that."

"So are we going to discuss the elephant in the room?" Edward dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe.

The time for small talk was over.

"What elephant, are you referring to the fact that you put my most valued asset back in the game without consulting me?" Ben never showed anger, it was pointless, and it put you at a disadvantage in discussions. But damn if he wasn't close to it now.

"We didn't do anything, she took on Verctti herself." In the intelligence business, a conversation with friends could feel like a poker game at gunpoint, neither party could show all of the cards that they had, even if they wanted to.

"Don't bullshit me Ed, Bellic's your asset. Hell, it was one of my teams that grabbed Brevic for you. My finance people double checked, you were the one who coordinated all of the bounties on Vercetti's head. You knew that if you dangled a job like that in front of her, she wouldn't be able to resist." He kept his voice steady and even. He was breaking the rules and laying his cards on the table, showing what he knew. Time to see if Ed would do the same.

"We needed a new asset in Los Santos, you know how things are, it's turned into the Wild West out there. We shut down every terrorist pipeline on the east coast, either Niko burned them to the ground or we served them to the schmucks in the organized crime division at the FIB on a silver platter. Vercetti was the only one left that wasn't on our payroll. With him gone, the east coast is airtight." Ed pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. Ben wasn't exactly happy with what he was being told, but it was nice to know that all of the years they'd been friends meant something, even if it was just a bit of reciprocated openness.

"Problem is, now that we've got control over all the game in the east, every criminal worth their salt is running to San Andreas like it's fucking 1849. All the new pipelines are running through Asia and South America and converging in Los Santos. We needed people there." If she hadn't chosen to go there, Ben was sure that Ed would have arranged the circumstances to send her there.

Ben shook his head, "stop trying to sell me with intel I already have Ed. You and I both know that you already have people on the ground."

"Yes, but we needed the best, Aliza is the best. She's the finest operative to come out of Mossad in the last twenty years, probably the best female operative in its history. The closest thing I've got is Bellic, and he's got no reason to hold any loyalty to us. Besides, you know better than anyone that she was miserable being out of the game, she's like us, she was born for this life. She would've gotten back in sooner or later." Ed looked at his watch, Ben didn't have to, he already knew that they only had about five minutes left

Ben shook his head, he knew what Ed was saying to be true, but he certainly didn't like it.

Finally, he let out a long sigh, signaling his concession. "Alright Ed, I've already got a few operatives stationed there, but you better have a decent team lined up for her if you're going to be using her to do your dirty work."

"I do, a couple of guys sheep-dipped from the teams, a kid we pulled from the NSA, and a freelancer. We'll leave her to get set up for another month, then we'll have our mutual acquaintance make the approach."

Ben nodded and tuned to go, but Edward called after him one last time.

"Hey Ben, you ever think about how fucked up what we do is?"

Ben looked back and chuckled, "Don't question fairy tales, old Jewish proverb, we're in the business of fairy tales, Ed, don't question it."

With that he headed for his plane, off to another appointment to discuss earth shattering developments that 99.9 percent of the world would never know about.

Fairy tales indeed, he mused.

 **Any guesses on who Edward is, he's got a history in GTA.**

 **R &R people, next chapter we're back with Aliza.**


	4. New City, New Life, Same Shit

"Goddamn girl you fine as a motherfucker."

That was the first thing that her new contact, Lamar Davis, said to her.

It was an unpleasant, though not uncommon, first reaction to her. No matter where you go in the world, men love beautiful women. It was something she used to her advantage, whenever possible.

It was also a clear sign that she was dealing with an amateur.

Wait, he brought a rose, she couldn't decide if that was sad or adorable, a little of both most likely.

"I mean that like not like in a stalker type way or nothing."

She arched one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows, just enough to make him feel a little more uncomfortable. It took every bit of her not to giggle.

"I'm just, I'm just saying like, you do look good." He smiled sheepishly and held out the rose for her.

He reminded her of the kid brother of one of her friends when she was in high school, he'd been a sixth grader when she was a junior. He'd eventually worked up the courage to ask her out, she'd let him down as gently as she could.

Probably best to do the same here, she thought.

She took the rose, held it up to her face, and inhaled deeply. It was clearly from a florist, making her feel worse for having to let him down, but still better than leading him on.

She offered him a small, carefully crafted, smile. It was equal parts sad and reassuring at the same time then handed the rose back to him.

"I'm sorry Lamar, but I can't take this. It's not that you don't seem like a sweet guy, but you have one part too many, if you get what I mean."

He took the flower and looked confused, she was going to have to spell it out for him. She scanned the crowd around the terminal exit, quickly picking out the person she was looking for and catching their eye.

She blew Lily a kiss, earning her a mischievous smirk in return. Lamar followed her gaze to the attractive flight attendant.

"Ohh, my bad, it's like that." She nodded as the realization dawned on him.

Yep, just like a sixth grader, she thought.

"Fuck it, that's neither here nor there." He tossed the rose away, moving quickly to salvage his wounded pride.

"Despite the rejection, I'm still going to help you get settled in, baby."

She slid into the passenger seat and buckled in, "Thanks for this by the way, just needed a change of scenery from Liberty, and you're the only guy here that I know."

Technically true, she didn't know anyone else, but she knew of most of the major players.

"No prob, you might not be the flowers kind of girl, but I got something else for you." Lamar reached under his seat to retrieve something.

If he pulls out anything sex related, I'm finding another contact, she thought. Lamar seemed likable enough, but even Aliza had her limits.

"Pah-yow" he produced a pistol and offered it to her. It took everything she had not to break his hand.

What the fuck is wrong with this person, she immediately snatched the gun away from him and tucked it away in her purse, out of sight.

"Welcome to Los Santos, untraceable." He was smiling when he said it. How is this person not in prison right now?

Ok Aliza, she told herself, you've dealt with amateurs before. He knows people in the city, he's an asset, just like any other. You've just got to manage him.

"Lamar, I want to be really clear on this, never, and I mean never hand a gun to anyone like that, ever again. Pass the gun to the person in a discreet motion, hold it by the barrel with the grip facing the person you're giving it to." She made her voice as stern as she could. Dealing with amateur assets was a lot like being a kindergarten teacher, you kept an eye on them, you cleaned up their messes, and you tried to keep them from dying.

"Ah, alright, my bad, okay let's go." With that, he looked away, and pulled off into the street.

"So tell me about LS, you always mentioned business during our sessions." She was referring to when he had been a client of hers during her camming days. Lamar would spend the entire session bragging about jobs he pulled. Most of it was just that, bragging, but she'd checked him out. He was heavily involved in the local gang scene.

"Say baby, it's a gang of opportunities in Los Santos." He was blushing at the mention of his previous interactions with her. Good, he was off balance.

"I mean, if you got the nuts… or the… you know." Does he even think before he speaks, Aliza wondered.

"Please, call me Aliza." She put a little edge in her voice to let him know that it wasn't optional.

"Oh yeah, Aliza, yeah. Your boy know people all over the city."

"Like my boy Hao, he, like literally the best mechanic in town." Mechanic, she mentally ticked it off of the list of contacts she needed in the city.

"And my boy Simeon, best bullshit artist in town." Useless, she thought.

"Or my boy G, or anyone from the families, you straight ba-Aliza." Good, he's learning, might as well toss him a bone, she thought. She pulled off the baggy sweatshirt, and Lamar's eyes immediately started bouncing between the road and her breasts.

"So where… uh… where am I going? You never told me where I'm, like, supposed to take you."

"Oh I don't know, what would you normally do on a night like this?"

"Uh.. my boy Hao's got a little race going… I mean if you into that." Illegal street race, not exactly what she had in mind, but, why not? It was as good a place to start as any other.

"Works for me," Lamar nodded and turned his attention to the radio. The rest of the ride passed with him singing, badly, along to some rap song while she looked out the window, checking out her new home.

Finally they pulled into a parking lot filled with cars, scantily clad women, testosterone fueled men. This, she knew how to deal with. The difference between an operative and a criminal wasn't as wide a margin as most would think, operatives were in it for the flag, criminals were in it for the cash, but they both did things in the dark that the local law enforcement didn't approve of. She knew this world, she knew how it worked, and most importantly, she knew how to make it work for her.

"Lamar, where'd a dumbass like you get a girl like that?" The source of the voice was an Asian man leaning against an orange sports car. His tattoos said gangbanger, his car said racer, and his movements said martial artist.

"She's a frie-" She cut him off as she got out of the car.

"I'm someone you should pay attention to." She went into full on femme fatale mode, swaying her hips ever so slightly as she walked, predatory grin splitting her face, hungry look in her eyes.

At this level it was all about ego, respect, looks. You were either a predator or prey, and what people thought of you mattered.

"And why's tha…a…at?" The man's composure came crumbling down as her V-neck tee shirt hit the asphalt.

Nothing threw a man off quite like a topless woman, she let down her hair and shook it out. A little dramatic, but from the reactions she caught in her periphery vision, it had the desired effect.

"Because I'm a player, because I'm incredibly good. And because I'm here to bet." His eyes were fixed firmly on her breasts, just the way she wanted it. When doing business, it was always better to have the other person's attention focused on something else, her mentor used a large opal ring to mesmerize the people he dealt with, she found her breasts to be just as effective.

"And what kind of bet do you have in mind?"

"I race the best guy here, someone here puts up their car, one I want, and if I win, it's mine." Confidence, that was the real key to situations like this. If you believed you could back up every word you said, so would they.

"Oh yeah, I'm the best here honey, so what happens when you lose?" Bravado, exactly what she was expecting. Street racing attracted a certain type, and if you wanted to get that person's respect, you had to show the bravado to, and more importantly, you had to show the skills to back it up.

She stepped in close, cupped his chin, and brought his gaze up to meet her eyes.

"If you win, you get ten grand, and the guy who puts up the car, well he gets to take me home tonight."

She let go of him and took a step back, the sudden violation of the racer's personal space combined with the intimate contact got the desired effect. He seemed a little shell shocked for a moment, then regained his composure and went to announce the wager.

She caught Lamar in her peripheral vision, he looked worried. It was actually kind of sweet.

"Uh… Aliza, like you sure you wanna do this, racing… it ain't like the movies. You kinda, like, you need some skills that you don't got, you dig?"

"Lamar, it's very sweet of you to worry, but there are a lot of things you don't know about me. You're going to find out a few of those things tonight. But to save time, just follow my lead." She didn't turn around, she just kept scanning the crowd, looking for reactions to her wager.

"Yeah… uh, I mean, sure I got your back."

Point proven, she thought, one of the things she'd learned from their sessions was that despite all of his talk, Lamar was more of a follower than a leader. Put a more dominant figure in front of him and he'd follow like a dog on a leash.

The racer finally returned.

"Hey Hao, be straight with this girl, you dig?" Hao gave Lamar an odd look for a second, but then returned his attention to Aliza.

"Ok," he said, "I've got a couple of takers."

He pointed to a hispanic man leaning on a black muscle car, "Horatio Reyes, the car's a Dukes, he's a Madrazo cartel enforcer. They're big on machismo, honesty, and all that bull, so he won't back out on the deal, Madrazo would kill him for it."

Then he pointed to an bald Asian man standing next to a small red sports car, "One of my buddies, Wei Young, car jacker for Kkangpae, good guy. His cars a suped up Kuruma."

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Anyone else?"

He sighed and pointed to a, flamboyantly dressed, white man standing next to a car she actually recognized. An all-black Pegassi Osiris, she knew she had to have it.

"Mark Ashford, tries to get people to call him 'Speed', He's a trust fund douchebag who's seen Fast and Furious a few too many times. His car's an Osiris, I wouldn't go with him though, he's got a nasty habit of backing out on bets when he loses."

"I want his car."

"I'm just saying, he always screws people over and gets his bitch, Joey, to beat the shit out of anyone who makes trouble over it." Hao pointed to a rather large man standing near Mark.

"How good is he?"

"Fights like a bull in a china shop, throws all his weight at whoever he's hitting."

Aliza nodded, big, but unskilled, "I can take him."

"Your problem, here, take this." He held out a set of keys for her.

"They're for the blue Buffalo over there, I don't want people saying that the only reason I beat you was cause you were driving Lamar's shitty ass car. Race course will be uploaded on the GPS."

"Thanks, now let's get to it, shall we?"

This'll be fun, she thought.

…

"That was fun." She tossed Hao the keys as she stepped out of her borrowed car.

"How the fuck did you manage that? I fuckin' had you , then you pulled that shit at the… seriously how in the hell did you pull that?"

The race had, for the most part, gone as everyone had expected, other than the fact that she'd won, of course. The Buffalo she'd been loaned was good, but Hao had built his car to race. She'd stayed in second most of the race, close on his heels, but never passing. Then during the last turn, she'd pulled a pit maneuver on his car, sending him spinning out. She'd crossed the finish line just as he'd managed to get control of his car again.

"Beginner's luck, I guess." And training in advanced combat driving.

"Well, that was some impressive shit, you've gotta give me another shot. I'll even put my car on the line this time." He was impressed, as she'd expected him to be. A good racer knew not to get worked up about a fair loss.

"Damn girl, I thought you… I mean I didn't… I knew you'd win, give me a tongue kiss."

She gave Lamar a stern look, backing him down. "cool your jets Lamar, I'm still gay. Toss me the sweatshirt that I left in your car."

He handed it to her, she tossed it over her shoulder, and looked back at Hao. "Sorry, not tonight, but give me your number, I'll be in touch." He rattled off the numbers and she inputted them into her phone, but her attention was on the man approaching them.

Mark Ashford was tall, built like a runner, and dressed like an eighties action movie wannabe. The man behind him was large, muscular, and covered in tattoos.

"Interesting race." He spoke around the toothpick he was chewing on and pulled his sunglasses down on his nose when he talked.

Masculinity issues, probably combined with abandonment issues. She didn't need her psychology degree to diagnose this stereotypical jackass.

"The most interesting part was when I won. Keys please?" she held out her hand, though she was fairly sure it wasn't going to be that simple.

"Yeah… no, sorry honey, but you hustled me. I don't like being cheated, but don't worry baby, I'll give you the ride of a lifetime tonight."

Called it.

"You're adorable." She cupped his face in her hands, he just smiled at her, confident in his irresistibility. She pulled his head forward, as if moving in for a passionate kiss. He smiled, closed his eyes, and puckered his lips.

Then she yanked his head down and brought her knee up, smashing it into his face, then repeated the process with her other knee. The bodyguard moved to grab her, but she spun the thoroughly dazed Ashford around and shoved him at Joey with a hard kick to the back.

The bodyguard caught the careening Ashford. Using this distraction, Aliza stepped around him and sent a low sidekick into the side of his knee. She followed it up with a hard punch to one of the man's kidneys, then a follow-up punch to the other kidney. Her coup de gras came in the form of her grabbing the man's head with a double eye gouge and yanking back.

She sidestepped out of the way of the collapsing tangle of men and watched them hit the asphalt.

The entire fight had taken less than a minute. She reached into the unconscious Ashford's jacket and pulled out his key fob and his wallet. She removed all of the cash in the wallet and pocketed the fob.

"Goddamn girl… How'd you…. Who the fuck are you, a closet Navy Seal commando or some shit?"

"Something like that," she tossed the money from the wallet to Hao. "Here, for your trouble."

He took the money and nodded, "Swing by Los Santos Customs sometime, I'll hook your new ride up with some serious upgrades."

As he left, she pulled her sweatshirt on, no point in giving everyone a view anymore.

"Lamar, grab my purse out of your car and meet me by my new car."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

The smile that spread across her face as she headed to her new Osiris couldn't be more genuine. She had a very nice new car, a sure-to-be growing reputation, and a new contact. Things were going even better than expected.

"Here you go." Lamar was standing behind her, holding her purse out for her.

"Thank you Lamar." He's got potential, she thought, he's not all that smart, but he's a nice enough guy and he has one virtue that so many assets lack, he does what he's told.

"So what's next?" And he's already figured out who's in charge, that was an even more pleasant surprise. With a little work, she was sure that she could turn him into a good asset.

"I don't know, what do you want to do?" Always let them assume that they're the ones in control, asset cultivation 101.

"Well, I don't know if this is your kind of deal, but my boy G texted me saying he needs somebody low key to hocus pocus some shit, you feel me?"

"What exactly does he need?" One thing that was going to have to change though was the vocabulary, she was fluent in seven languages, passable in three, ghetto slang wasn't one of them.

"It's a big exchange of merchandise going down, the Vagos and the Ball-eaters have squashed their little, uh… 'cultural differences', or what the fuck ever." Ahh, drug deal, well, she said she wanted something more exciting than playing call girl to the rich and famous.

"Send me the deal's location and where to make the drop."

"Alright, I'll text you my boy, G's address. Don't even trip, he straight." She watched as Lamar headed for his car.

"You know we got you," he yelled just before closing his car door and driving off.

She waved as he left, he had potential, but he had a long way to go before she'd consider him anything close to an equal.

She pulled open the gull-wing door and slipped into her new car.

Hmm, Italian leather, the interior was fairly similar to the last Osiris that she'd been in, dark leather, lots of gauges, touch screen dashboard, the usual assortment for a two million dollar sports car.

While she waited for her phone to sync with the car's systems, she set about searching the various compartments.

Condoms, a few bundles of cash, a nine millimeter pistol, cologne, a Rolex, and a combat knife.

Her phone chirped, telling her that the car had finally synched with her phone. The location of the deal popped up on her heads up display.

Time to get down to business. Elation coursed through her as the car purred to life. It only grew as she sped off into the streets.

The Osiris handled like a dream, it took all of her self-control to keep it below the speed limit and stop when she was supposed to. But the SOP for this sort of thing was as basic as it got, when committing big crimes, you had to be careful to avoid the small crimes. More criminals and operatives were caught because of traffic stops than any other reason.

She contented herself with the knowledge that once she'd gotten settled in, she'd take it for a drive on one of the scenic highways Los Santos was famous for. Then she could really see what it could do.

She made two stops on the way. One was a hardware store where she bought some gum and shoplifted a box of rubber gloves and some plastic bags. The other was to a SubUrban where she changed into a one-size-too-small crop top and short shorts that covered only slightly more than the average set of bikini bottoms. The gleaming skyscrapers of downtown morphed into low income housing and industrial complexes.

The drug deal was supposed to be taking place in an alley underneath an overpass, she parked the car a few blocks away

She stepped out of her car and tucked the combat knife and a pair of rubber gloves in her purse.

Show time.

She covered the last few blocks on foot, just another hooker out looking for a john. Then she spotted a Hispanic man that had to be the lookout.

She scanned her surroundings to ensure the area was clear of noncombatants that could get caught in the crossfire.

Or testify against her as the case may be.

The area was clear, the gangs must have made sure that no one would be around for their meeting.

Suited her purposes.

The rubber gloves went on and the combat knife came out of her purse and she started her approach. She held the knife in a reverse grip, the blade hidden behind her forearm.

"Hey big boy, got a minute." She affected a SoCal accent, arched her back a little to emphasize her breasts, and gave him what a lot of guys would call a 'come and get me' grin.

It elicited the intended response, "For a girl like you, I got a lot more than a minute."

Just as she'd expected, he started toward her. She remained where she was, knife ready.

Closer…

Closer…

"So how much this gonna cost me?" Damn it! he'd stopped just a bit out of her reach.

"Nothing at all, the Ballas are footing the bill on this one." She took one step forward.

"Why they doin' that?" he was growing suspicious, she needed to kill him quick and quiet.

"They said you guys are engaging in a business transaction, I'm the champagne to be popped to celebrate. Now close your eyes, and enjoy."

Dear god, the cheesy lines she was spewing made her want to shoot herself, but it worked. The Vago closed his eyes and started undoing his pants.

She slipped behind him, and in smooth motion she covered his mouth with one hand and jammed the knife into the back of his skull. His body went stiff for a moment, then limp. She gently dropped it to the ground.

She slipped into the alley, another lookout was standing a short way in. she kept her hooker cover, got into range, and ran the blade up, under his jaw, into his brain, killing him instantly. Once again she quickly caught the body and brought it quietly to the ground.

She moved into a position behind a crate to get a good look at the deal.

Five men, two Ballas, three Vagos, likely with one more person at the other end of the alley as lookout. She ran the calculations in her head. Within a minute, she had her plan.

She pulled the pistol from her purse, she estimated that she had about seven seconds from the first shot.

She peeked over the barrel and lined up her first target. With his head in her sights, she squeezed the trigger.

The Vagos buyer dropped, immediately all four remaining men went for their guns.

One.

Her next target went down, one of the Vagos bodyguards.

Two.

The balla bodyguard spun in her direction and started to bring his gun up, a bullet caught him between the eyes before he could even take aim.

Three.

The lookout came running in, weapon drawn. Seeing his dead Vagos comrades, his gun fell on the remaining Balla.

Four.

The remaining Vagos bodyguard was her next victim. The Balla buyer pointed in her direction and yelled.

Five.

She took advantage of the lookout's confusion to drop the remaining buyer.

Six.

The lookout scanned the area, but her shot found his head before he found her.

Seven.

She let out a long sigh, it had been a long time since she'd done this sort of thing, and if she was honest with herself, she'd been nervous as hell about it.

She'd kept as current on her training as she could in Liberty. Firing range for shooting, MMA for hand to hand combat, and her job made sure she kept up on her ability to read people.

But anyone worth a damn in the business knew that no matter how hard you train, nothing substitutes the real thing.

All their weapons, her brass, and the contents of their wallets were dumped into different plastic bags. The drugs went into a different plastic bag then into her purse.

She made sure to do a heat run on the way back to her car, taking a long circuitous route full of random turns and backtracking to make sure no one followed her.

She stopped at three different canals and tossed a bag into each, before heading to Gerald's place.

It was a lot of work, but it was an SOP that made sure that it would never trace back to her.

Gerald's place was a small apartment complex with a central courtyard. Considering the gang members openly carrying weapons inside the perimeter, she was willing to bet that either he owned the building, or another member of the 'Families' did. It wasn't all that different from any other drug lord's compound really, be it Somalia, Afghanistan, or Los Santos, they were all secure buildings with plenty of armed security.

The security waved her through, Lamar was waiting for her in the courtyard.

"Hey G, come out here man!" he gestured to a door.

"What up do-uh, Aliza, how you doing," he held out his fist, she returned it with a smile, had to give him some positive reinforcement.

A short African American man wearing a fedora stepped out of an apartment door. She noticed the guards taking a firmer grip on their weapons as he sized her up.

Finally he pulled his hat on a little tighter, and the guards' hands came off of their weapons.

"Well goddamn, you antisocial mot-…" She raised a hand, cutting him off. He was figuring out the dynamics of their new relationship rather quickly.

"Nice signal, very subtle, let me guess, the hat comes off, we wouldn't be walking out of here." It was flashy, she was showing off, it might've been better to keep her knowledge of his signal a secret. But right now, she was focusing on establishing a reputation.

"Hey," She widened her smile, that acknowledgement was the equivalent of a handshake between professionals.

"The stuff?"

She pulled the drug bag out of her purse and handed it to him. He took a look at it, and passed it to one of his guys.

"Alright here." He passed her a wad of cash, "It's right, don't bother counting it."

"Anything you need handled, send it my way." She flipped him her card, he nodded and went back through the apartment door.

She motioned for Lamar to follow her out of the compound.

Two grand, a quick count got her that number, not bad for services rendered.

She peeled away five hundred dollar bills. "Twenty five percent finders fee, better than average."

The five hundred went to Lamar, he looked a little dumbfounded.

She flashed him another reassuring smile, "Your cut, call me tomorrow, when you have something lined up."

"ugh yeah, okay." She waved, then got in her car and set off for her hotel with one thought on her mind.

Damn, I need a champagne cocktail, followed by a long hot shower and a blonde to share it with.

 **Alright guys, this one's longer than most, but I'm okay with that. I'll be honest though, I don't entirely like this chapter, it felt clunky to write, and I really feel like I forced my way through some of the situations to make the opening missions of online fit the story. But that's for you guys to decide.**

 **If any of you are wondering about the way I wrote Lamar, feel free to ask, I know he seems a bit different from the game, but I have my reasons. I won't put them all here, but PM me if you want to know.**

 **BTW, this chapter was actually supposed to come out before the last one, I think it still works in the order that it's in, but what do you guys think, should I change it.**

 **Oh yeah, I'm still looking for beta readers for this and other projects.**

 **That should be all for now ladies and gentlemen, Read and Review as always.**

 **Jake111 out.**


	5. Submission to Self

_G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, yeah, G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S._

The music was blaring, the drinks were flowing, and a scantily clad woman was giggling in her lap.

It was shaping up to be a fairly normal Los Santos Friday night for Aliza.

She'd been in the city for a month, and had quickly discovered that there was quite a demand for people with her particular skillset. After that first job, she'd quickly found herself at the top of Gerald's speed dial whenever he needed a shooter. Lamar had introduced her to an obvious con man, Simeon, who'd had her stealing cars for his scams.

And then there were the jobs that Lamar came up with on his own.

Dear god, how did he survive before she'd been there to hold his hand? His plan almost always boiled down to a very formulaic approach.

Step 1, drive to the location. Step 2, draw weapons. And step 3, charge in guns blazing and yelling about Apache blood.

She always had to step in and offer a better plan. In the case of the job that they'd pulled that day, she'd distracted the drivers while he'd stolen a tanker truck full of fuel. It wasn't that bad of a job, if not for the fact that Lamar's contact for selling the fuel was an 'OG', as he called it, one of the high ranking members of the CGF. The guy had screwed them and they'd only walked away with two grand a person.

She did feel a certain affection for Lamar, he was a likable enough guy when he wasn't doing something idiotic, and he was loyal to a fault. Whenever she pulled a job with him, though, she felt like an older sister watching her baby brother on the playground, keeping him from jumping off the top of the slide and stepping in when the bullies went too far.

The professional in her reminded her that it was basic asset management, but just like any older sister stuck watching their baby brother, she knew it was necessary and that it wasn't that much of a chore, but it still got tedious as all hell sometimes.

"Hey, Aliza, yo, you in there?" Lamar's voice pulled her out of her reveries.

"Oh, what? Yeah, sorry." She pretended that she'd been entirely focused on the strippers, it was less likely to offend her present company.

"Yo fool, leave the girl alone, she didn't drop four hundred on a stripper to listen to your black ass." The third person at their table was Franklin Clinton, who she was fairly certain was the answer to how Lamar had survived so long on such stupid plans. Franklin was far more reasonable than Lamar and held a far clearer view on the gang lifestyle. He was one of the best drivers that she'd ever seen, and by amateur standards, he wasn't a bad shot.

"The fuck do you know, but as I was sayin'…." Lamar went back to his story, something about a prostitute, a bag of crack, and some Balla getting killed. She ordered another drink and returned to her thoughts

Despite Lamar's amateur approach to jobs, when she was honest with herself, she'd enjoyed the last month more than the entire time she'd spent in Liberty. She loved being back in the action, she loved getting a call to go bust up a drug deal or jack some idiot's car. It was, for lack of a better word, fun. It didn't have the same challenge as when she was working for the Institute, but it was far more interesting than the work that she'd been doing in Liberty.

She looked at her watch, it was 9:40. Time to finish her drink, bid the boys a good night and find a girl to spend the night with.

As she walked out into the parking lot, she was greeted with the rather unpleasant sight of a young blonde woman being beaten by her old friend, Mark Ashford.

Naturally, she felt the need to politely reintroduce herself and thank him for her car, politely, with the highest caliber of decorum…

And violence.

"Hello Mark, so nice to see you again." She grabbed him by the jacket and threw him up against the wall, pressing her elbow up against his windpipe. There were very few things that could really piss Aliza off anymore, bullies were pretty high on that list.

"You crazy whore, you stole my car!" He writhed and tried to shove her back, she responded with more pressure on his neck and a knee to his groin. This made him stop resisting rather quickly.

"No, no, you're confused, I won your car, and you signed the title over to me. Don't you remember?" She divided her focus between Mark and the unconscious young woman. She would have to examine the injuries more closely, but the girl looked fine. Banged up with a probable concussion, but not seriously injured.

"Fuck that, Hao and his guys may have strong armed me into that, but that car's still mine, and you still owe me a night in bed with you." He groaned as she delivered another swift knee to his groin.

"Mark, you really need to learn a bit more respect for women, and you really need to make sure that we never meet again. If we do, I'm going to kill you. The only reason that I'm not doing it this time is because I really have to see to this poor girl's injuries, and that means that I don't have time to dispose of your corpse." She gave him one last knee to the groin, and released him.

"Now leave!" he limped off as fast as he could, while she turned her attention to the girl on the ground.

She went through the standard battlefield medical examination, first checking for obvious wounds, then for signs of internal bleeding. Finding nothing beyond superficial bruising, she moved on to checking her responsiveness.

"Are you okay?" she spoke loudly, but calmly. Giving the girl's shoulder a gentle shake.

The girl began to stir, her eyes flittered open. She sat up slowly, clutching her head.

"Ugggh, what happened?" She looked at Aliza, big eyes filled with confusion.

"You're alright honey, some jackass tried to beat you up, but I handled it. Are you feeling a lot of pain, does any particular part of your body feel weird at all? Can you tell me your name?" She was almost entirely sure that the girl had a concussion, but she wasn't sure how bad it was.

"Tracey, and yeah, my head hurts, like, a lot. Wait… that jackass…" Tracey tried to stand up, but she couldn't seem to find her balance. She would've landed on her face if Aliza hadn't caught her.

"Tracey, babe, you have a concussion, come on, my name is Aliza, is your car here?" She slipped an arm around her, under Tracey's arms, completely supporting her weight.

"Uh, no, I rode here with my… you beat up my boyfriend, didn't you?" Tracey looked around, most likely searching for her soon-to-be former boyfriend.

"Didn't you!" Tracey tried to yank herself away, but only managed to stumble forward a few steps before Aliza had to stop her from falling again.

"Yes, Tracey, but he was the one beating you." Memory loss, now Aliza was sure that she needed to get this girl to a hospital.

"Nooo! You shouldn't have done that, it was… I mean he… he just made a mistake." Ahh, battered woman's syndrome, far easier to deal with, Aliza thought.

"Honey, a mistake is when he buys you the wrong brand of tampon, it's not giving you a black eye, and knocking you unconscious behind a strip club." Tracey was writhing in her arms, trying to get away.

"It was my fault, I shouldn't have-." Aliza spun her around, getting a firm grip on her, pulling the girl tightly against her frame, and looking Tracey dead in the eyes.

"Tracey, answer me this, did you pull a gun on him?"

"No, of course not!"

"Did you pull a knife or hit him?"

"No" The writhing stopped, and Tracey looked away. Aliza could see her resistance crumbling, one more good push would convince her.

"Did you threaten him in any way, any way at all?"

"No"

"Then it wasn't your fault, he had no excuse at all, you are a beautiful girl who deserves far better than that asshole. Now, let's get you in my car, and to the ER." She let go of Tracey and helped her to into the Osiris.

The ride to the ER was quick and quiet, Tracey didn't say a word, she just kept alternating between staring at Aliza and staring out the window. She pulled to a stop in the ER parking lot and helped Tracey out of the car.

Finally, Tracey spoke as they were walking into the emergency room lobby.

"Why'd you stop to help me?"

Aliza offered her a wry smile, "I don't like bullies, and besides, who says you have to be male to play the white knight?"

She helped sign Tracey in, handed her off to a nurse, and turned to go. Not before Tracey called after her one more time, though.

"Hey Aliza… thanks."

"No problem Trace, feel better." Aliza turned and headed for her Osiris, she'd done her good deed for the night and still had time to stop by a bar to find a girl to spend the night with.

All in all, a pretty good night.

 **Guys, I'm really sorry about last night, the files were right next to each other and I clicked on the wrong one without looking.**

 **By the way, Have you checked out my DA story yet, haha, joking.**

 **But in all seriousness, I've been so busy with college and work that I'm losing it. Still, dumb shit like this shouldn't happen, especially not twice in the same month, so I'm seriously sorry guys.**

 **On the up side, I've got to say, I like this one a lot better. It felt like it flowed a lot more than the last one.**

 **I'm assuming that everyone knows who Tracey is. I find her to be an incredibly interesting character, now I can hear you all saying WTF. I understand why most people hate her, but when you think about the way she acts, a lot of it makes sense and she probably has a lot of psychological issues that aren't addressed in game. But I won't waste your time with my blathering here.**

 **R &R guys, see you next week.**


	6. A Successful Shopping Spree

"Hard wood floors, stainless steel appliances, top of the line entertainment system, a studio that could just as easily serve as a gym or workspace. Combine that with the prime location and you're practically stealing this place from us."

Aliza didn't look at the real estate agent, which was exactly what the agent expected of her. To the nouveau rich day trader that she was claiming she was, the agent was little different from the bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket on her new apartment's kitchen table, a bauble to be popped at her leisure to help close the deal.

Hell, the mild curiosity in the agent's eyes told Aliza that she was surprised to still be wearing clothes. She'd most likely been hired for her appearance, a beautiful girl plucked from a city where looking like a model was considered the bare minimum. It was fairly common in wealthy circles, when you were paying as much as she was, the seller was expected to make the transaction as enjoyable as possible. She had to give them credit for researching her proclivities as well as they did, a less competent company might have sent a man.

"The amenities come with it?" She knew the girl wasn't a whore, no more than she herself was. The agent was just a person doing her best to get by and make as much of a profit as possible. Men do it, women do it, sex is just another asset to be used. Whether you were a honey trap baiting an Iranian nuclear scientist to his death, a drug dealer trying to establish a bigger contact network, or a real estate agent looking to close a deal, sex was a very effective tool for those who chose to use it.

"Private ten car garage with a racing quality mechanic's set up, a member's only swimming pool, and a concierge that can get you anything you want." The agent undid a button on her jacket, "anything."

Aliza smiled, not too subtle, but they both knew what the other expected, or in the agent's case, thought they knew. She spun around and stepped closer to the woman, the blouse was off before the jacket hit the floor

"I'll take it" she said, pulling the real estate agent in for a kiss. It would have to be quick, she still had a number of other appointments that she had to make. But why not enjoy the moment while it was there?

After all, she thought, expectations were her business.

….

"The Bati 801, not a bad bike, but for you, someone who is like a niece to me, you deserve far better-"

She raised a hand, cutting Simeon off, "Cut the bullshit Simeon, I know what I want, and you're not going to get me to buy something more expensive."

Naturally, he gave her the same offended look that he gave every resistant client, he was just about to launch into his usual rant when she took off her sunglasses and affixed him with a glare.

"Call me a racist, and I'm going to punch you in the throat." She was having a good day, the money from the hit had been laundered to the point that it was cleaner than the day it had been minted, now was the time to spend some of it. She had her new base of operations, the bike she wanted for work, her stuff was being moved out of the storage locker and into the new place, and she was actually looking forward to her last appointment of the day.

Needless to say, she didn't feel like having her day ruined with one of Simeon's sales pitches.

To his credit, Simeon managed to switch gears in less than a second. After being caught off guard, he recovered and was all smiles again.

"Why would I do that to such a valued employee, now let us discuss financing."

Aliza slid her shades back on and pulled a wad of cash out of her hand bag. "No Financing, none of that insurance scam bullshit. The price is fifteen thousand dollars, here it is"

She tossed the cash at a, once again, caught-off-guard Simeon. "Have it delivered to the address I texted you."

She turned to leave, but stopped and looked over her shoulder at the crooked car dealer.

"Oh and Simeon, if you do what you normally do, then I'll find the idiot who you hire to steal my bike, kill him, then come and put a bullet between those shifty little eyes of yours, kay?"

Simeon just stared, open-mouthed, back at her, she grinned.

"Good, glad we understand each other."

Then she was off to her last appointment of the evening.

….

"Excuse me, can you direct me to the _Ishmael?"_

"Um, Ma'm, begging your pardon, but I don't know if you're allowed back here. Could I see a pass ma'm, please?" The dockworker in front of her had a distinctly rabbit-like appearance, and a matching demeanor from the sound of it.

"I really don't have time for this, I was told by your supervisor that I'd been cleared, I'll just have to go to him and straighten this out. What was your name again?" She didn't actually have a pass, but if her read on this guy was right, he wouldn't dare call her bluff. As soon as she'd said supervisor, he'd glanced at two men who appeared to be arguing a few hundred feet away. She stepped around the dockworker in front of her, as if about to approach the men.

"N-Now wait a second ma'am, that won't be necessary. You said that you're looking for the _Ishmael_ , she's berthed just a little ways down. I'll take you to her." Ah, that was the great thing about bureaucracy, nothing terrified a drone into ignoring the rules quite like the possibility of pissing off the boss.

"Thank you, lead the way." The dockworker did as he was told and started towards the ship berths, with Aliza two steps behind.

"So, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. What was it again?"

"Uh… Floyd, Ma'am, Floyd Herbert, unionized longshoreman. It's uh… a pleasure to make your acquaintance miss…" his eyes never met hers, when he looked at her it was always at her nose or over her shoulder, never making eye contact.

"Nice to meet you too Floyd. So, has anything interesting come through the port lately?" One of the things that she'd picked up early on as a katsa, if you wanted to know if anything major was happening in a coastal city, keep an eye on the docks.

"Well… there's this ship you're looking for. You're the tenth or eleventh person who's come looking for it. In fact a bunch of Chinese fellas came just a little while before you, are you with them?" Well placed rabbit with a sense of curiosity, now that could be a useful combination

"No, I'm a freelance agent with a heavy stake in the organization transporting cargo on that vessel." It was corporate leet speak, technically everything she'd said was true, but she hadn't really said anything. It also had the added benefit of confusing most people and giving her an air of authority that helped convince most people to listen to her. A combination of that and the four thousand dollar designer suit she was wearing were more than enough to convince most people that she was in charge.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't really know what that means ma'am. I don't normally snoop, but it's mighty strange the way people keep showing up and taking stuff off of the ship a few crates at a time." That certainly sounded like Isak.

"It's how it usually operates. The organization that owns the vessel specializes in providing high end merchandise to a specialized clientele. Anything else interesting happening around here?"

"There was that container out of Turkey that all those guys in suits were arguing about. Come to think of it, we been getting a lot more freight out of Asia than usual these past couple of months." Now that was an interesting fact, she'd have to remember that.

"Well this is it, if we could keep that whole pass nonsense from Don, and Jim, and Mick, I'd really appreciate it." The meek sincerity almost made her feel sorry for intimidating him.

"No problem Floyd, but how about in exchange, you do something for me?" It was a simple approach, not exactly MICE, but it was worked more often than not.

"Of course ma'am, anything you need, just ask." Relief that she wasn't going to get him in trouble, a sense of being indebted to her. It was the exact emotional state that you wanted your target in for the approach.

"The organization that I represent does a great deal of business in the port of Los Santos, we have a vested interest in ensuring that things run smoothly. Sometimes the people in charge miss things, sometimes the middle managers try to sweep problems under the rug, I'm not asking to perform a witch hunt. All I'm asking you to do is to tell me if you notice anything unusual around here, nothing deeper than the conversation we just had. You will of course be well compensated for your additional duties. Do you think you can handle that?" The best assets were those that didn't know that they were assets. They weren't taking bribes to spy on their friends and colleagues, they were being well compensated to go above and beyond the call of duty.

"Well… I suppose I could-"

"Great, wonderful meeting you Floyd. An advance, I'll be in touch." She shoved her business card and a bundle of hundred dollar bills in his vest pocket.

"Uhhh… thank you ma'am." She was already walking away toward the _Ishmael's_ gang plank.

She'd succeeded in the recruitment. He'd agreed to do as she'd asked, and more importantly, he'd accepted her money. That was the point of no return when it came to recruitment, once the money changed hands, they couldn't say that they weren't cooperating.

It was asset recruitment 101.

There were armed guards at the gang plank, as she'd expected. Two men armed with pistols. It was the first line of defense. These guys were bouncers to keep out riff raff, in the event of a real threat, they were to sound the alarm and retreat into the ship. She knew every detail of the ship's security plans.

She was the one who designed them, after all.

"I'm here to see Isak." The guards didn't budge in the slightest, good, glad to see they were sticking to protocol.

"Alpha zero six, mike zero seven, lima niner ate, Juliette niner ate, need I go on?" The identification codes had their intended effect. The guards jumped to attention.

"No ma'am" they said in unison.

"Good, now take me to my uncle." One of the men set off up the gang plank, guiding her through the bowels of the ship. She knew her way around of course, but the escort ensured that none of the other new guards would hassle her.

They made their way to the cargo hold, and the guns the guards were changed from pistols to military grade assault rifles.

The cargo hold was illuminated by a number of flood lights. She leaned on the cat walk's railing and looked down at the two parties below.

One was a group of Asian men in suits, loose cut to help hide the guns. Triads most likely, considering they were speaking Mandarin.

The other group was more multicultural, consisting of a number of different races. Their unifying characteristics being their military fatigues, their above average physical condition, and the high end weapons they were openly carrying.

Two men stood across from each other with a stack of military weapons cases between them. One was an older Chinese man, the other was a behemoth of a man standing at six foot six with the frame of a linebacker.

That was Isak.

"Mr. Cheng, how about we cut to the chase, as my associates have just informed me that I have a pressing engagement to attend to. Either you pay the price that we agreed to, or I'm going to take these guns and sell them to the cartels at a discount." The Russian-Israeli arms dealer leaned over the cases, looming over the smaller Chinese man.

"You wouldn't dare" the Triad leader hissed.

Isak snorted, looking for all the world like a bull ready to charge. "And why not, the cartels have always been fair with me. Perhaps I should reward their loyalty by giving them everything they need to drive you and your Kkangpae friends right into the sea. Now, either pay me and take the guns, or go put on your bathing suits."

A few tense moment s passed as the two men stared each other down, each waiting for the other to crack. Arms dealing was just as much to do with willpower as it was intelligence, you had to be smart to survive, but to make a real profit, you needed nerves of steel. Cheng couldn't let his rivals get a hold of heavy duty fire power at a discount if he didn't want to lose all of his territory, and Isak couldn't give in and lower the price if he didn't want all of his other clients to expect the same.

That only left two options.

Either Cheng took the deal or…

Aliza's hand went to her pistol.

This would end in bloodshed.

She started blinking rapidly, taking deep breaths, lining up possible shots in her head. If this went sideways, she'd be ready.

Finally, the decision was made.

"Deal you mixed seed bastard, but you better not be expecting any more business from my organization."

Isak leaned back and crossed his arms, "wouldn't dream of it you slant eyed jackass, now take your guns and kindly get the fuck off of my ship.

She waited until the Chinese had left, then she climbed down the ladder.

Almost as soon as her feet touched the deck, she found herself enveloped in a massive bear hug.

"Aliza,' Isak yelled as he hugged her, "it is so good to see you again."

"Nice to see you too, Isak." She returned the embrace, she almost had to laugh. She'd seen Isak at his best and at his worst, he did nothing by halves. This was a perfect example, he could go from cold hearted merchant of death to giant teddy bear in three seconds flat.

"Come Aliza, we have much to discuss." Isak wrapped a colossal arm around Aliza and shepherded her out of the cargo hold, down a few hallways, and into his private quarters. She took a seat at the small dinette table while Isak poured some drinks for the two of them.

Like every meeting they had, it began with small talk. She asked how Aggie was, Isak told her how the kids were. Aaliyah had been accepted into the University of Jerusalem's medical school, Rania had just graduated college, Alile was marrying a legitimate diamond dealer from Liberty City, Josif and Mikel had become fighter pilots in the IAF, Laila had a new girlfriend and Ambre had a new boyfriend, neither of which Isak felt were appropriate things for high school junior, but he didn't get a say as Aliza was quick to point out. And her own goddaughters, Mary and Atsuko were starting second grade. And Aggie was looking into adopting two beautiful little twin girls from Colombia.

Isak wasn't actually her uncle, he had been one of her main contacts, and her landlord when she'd been working for the Institute. The uncle thing had started as a cover to help her gain trust in the arms dealing community. Eventually, it just kind of stuck and she became part of the family.

Finally, after they'd finished their drinks, Isak asked the question that she'd been waiting for.

"So Aliza, my solnyshko, I thought that you'd gotten out of the business. I'm assuming that this isn't just a social visit, which means you need weapons, which means you're back in, da?"

"Da" Aliza nodded, not much slipped past Isak, "but I'm freelancing these days and I need to be properly outfitted."

She pulled a slip of paper from her suit jacket and slid it across the table. Isak's eyebrows arched as he read it.

"Body armor, combat PDWs, assault rifles, tactical shotguns… a homing missile launcher? And those are just the ones at the top of the list. Solynoshko, are you preparing for war?"

Not exactly, but if she was going to go freelance, she had to have weapons to match her level of skill.

"No, but it's better to be as well armed as possible when expecting combat. Can you get a hold of them?" She already knew he could, but it was polite to ask.

"I can, it will be expensive, but I will make you a deal, I will provide you with these weapons at cost."

"If…" even Isak wasn't so generous as to offer her that good of a deal without any strings attached to it.

"If you promise to come to the estate for Passover next year. Aggie has been hounding me to get you to visit for quite a while." Isak smiled, "She misses you Solynosko."

"Deal," Aliza smiled, she should have guessed that Isak would ask that. It was true that she hadn't visited as often as she should have, but she'd been busy managing her new life in Liberty City.

"Good, now you must let me take you to dinner, I won't accept no for an answer. I found this perfect little café the other day on…" Isak kept chatting up a storm as she stood and followed him out of the room.

All in all, a very successful shopping spree.

 **I know this one is late guys, but my computer screwed up and I had to start from scratch on it.**

 **I really do like this chapter. I want to hear some opinions on Isak, I have some interesting ideas for his character that got hinted at in this chapter. Tell me what you're thinking people, the only part I'm not sure about is the first part, I'm not entirely sure that I portrayed it the right way.**

 **R &R people, new chapter next Wednesday. **


	7. Threats of a New Generation

In the worlds of international espionage, diplomacy, and national security, there were a lot of necessary evils. They were things that very few people liked, but almost everyone acknowledged as a necessary part of the business.

If someone ever asked Ben to list the worst of these necessary evils, he would certainly rank the two he was experiencing at the moment, international intelligence conferences, and politicians.

"Oy Vey, eh, Ben." Ed handed him a glass of scotch, the only good thing about these things was the free booze.

It was also the thing that he truly hated about these conferences, high ranking intelligence officers from almost every nation in the western world all gathered under one roof, and all they could do was pat each other on the back and gorge themselves on free food and booze. The biggest problem was that most of the people attending these things were political appointees who only got involved with actual operations when it meant getting your name in the news, very few had any real experience in covert operations, and even fewer were veteran operatives like Edward and himself.

"Not the way that I would have put it, but my sentiments exactly." Ben took the glass and scanned the room from his position by the bar. He had to give the French credit, they certainly knew how to throw a party. And he couldn't second guess their security, a multi -million dollar yacht a few hundred miles off the western coast of the United States and a security team armed to the teeth. There were ways to assault the ship, but very few nations would have the gall to do it, and even fewer N.G.O.s had the resources.

That didn't stop him from keeping his pistol holstered in the small of his back.

"I don't even know why they sent us, it's a conference on forensic accounting and financial counterterrorism. Since when did we become bean counters?" He sipped his scotch, wishing he was on his jet or in his office, somewhere that he could do some actual work.

"Well… you are Jewish." The fact that Ed managed to say that with a straight face was a true testament to his capability as an operative.

Ben fixed him with an equally serious glare, "anti-Semitic bastard."

"Dib"

"Flash."

There was a long silence between them as the two glared at each other, until finally Ed couldn't hold out anymore and started laughing so hard that his eyes began to water, quickly followed by Ben falling into a chuckling fit.

Ed wiped away a tear and looked back at Ben "Seriously though, my people told me that they needed a few guys from the operations side of the business. With us here, they can at least pretend that something productive will come out of this."

"I didn't even bother asking, but I'd probably get the same answer from my people." Ben ordered two more drinks, it was going to be a very long night.

"Personally, I prefer a more hands on approach to financial counterterrorism." With a knowing smile, Ben handed Ed one of the drinks.

"So, a little bird told me that he ran into our girl the other day. You still haven't put her into play." The wording of the question had to be kept as vague as possible. Ben had complete trust in Ed, he couldn't say the same for anyone else in the room. Candid little chats like the one they'd had at the airfield could get people killed if the wrong person overheard.

"Yes, he ran into her while he was moving the shipment, thank you for that by the way." Ed looked at his watch, two hours until the party ended and he could get back to work.

"No problem, if the operation goes well, it'll take out a lot of uncontrolled pipelines. You still haven't answered my question."

"You still haven't asked one." It was a weak counter, and Ed knew it, but he had to at least pretend to put up a fight. He had three different bureaucrats riding his ass, any of whom would love nothing more than to build a career on dragging him in front of a senate subcommittee. The line between covert operations and treason was very much a blurred one, and the legality of his friendship with Ben was deep in the gray.

They drank in relative silence for a few minutes, only breaking it when an FSIS operative attempted to strike up a conversation on the increase of counterfeit currency turning up in his country. It took him seven whole minutes to realize that neither of them gave a shit, after which he politely excused himself with a very polite "haista vittu."

Well, Ben at least didn't give a shit, Ed had looked into it and found the pipeline funneling the funny money to be fairly benign, not good for the Finnish economy, but not a threat to anyone's national security.

It was the bureaucrats that finally did it, the man from FSIS was only the first, no one wanted to talk to Ben, people only wanted to talk to him when they needed a problem with the Middle East rooted out at the source. Ed's purview was far wider, everyone wanted the backing of the behemoth that was the American intelligence apparatus. After a prolonged assault on their position at the bar by those seeking Ed's assistance, those seeking Ed's information, and those seeking Ed's job, he turned to Ben and asked if he would mind moving to the outer deck of the yacht.

Ben kept an outward expression of neutral serenity, but inside, he was grinning. He knew how these parties went.

"I'm quite comfortable here, unless there's a reason why." The formal tone was for the group of petitioners around them. It was a dick move, but a necessary one.

Ed spoke through gritted teeth, "Yes, I need to discuss something with you and it requires a degree of privacy."

"As you wish."

Ed offered the irritating horde around them a rather insincere apology and bid them farewell. The two of them made their way through the crowd and out of the ball room. The outer deck ran around the yacht, on most boats it would be used for sunbathing. On this one it was a place for the security to keep an eye, and gunsight, on potential threats.

Ed pointed an accusatory finger at him, "You… you are a true jackass, you know that?"

"Yes, so are you going to answer my question?"

"You know, smugness looks incredibly wrong on you, but yes. Things have slowed down lately, we haven't had a reason to put her into play." The innocuousness seemed odd to Ben, so he pressed harder.

"If that's it, then why didn't you just say so in the first place?" Something as simple as that shouldn't have warranted that much resistance.

Ed let out a long sigh, "to be honest, I'm kind of embarrassed, the analysts at Langley have the politicians in Washington convinced that I'm an alarmist. A paranoid cold war relic is what they're calling me. Rushing to get assets in place for a nonexistent threat."

Ben could sympathize with his friend, but couldn't say that he'd ever been in his place. In Israel, paranoia was considered the norm when it came to national security. In a nation where the rumble of child suicide bombers is common place, the idea of being over prepared was ludicrous.

Ed pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes and lit one up, "you know, all these kids at Langley, they've got all this data saying why the age of international terrorism is over, that between drones and satellites, the terrorist don't stand a chance. They're saying that the world's safe, people like you and I we're obsolete. And maybe they're right about the two of us being obsolete assholes past our prime, but we both know that they'll always need people like us on the ground. And I've got this feeling in my gut."

He looked Ed directly in the eyes, and asked the question they both knew the answer to.

"When's the best time to sucker punch someone?"

"When they think they've won." Ben shook his head, damn it, now he had the same splinter in the back of his mind as Ed.

Ed offered him a cigarette like he always did. For once, Ben decided to let his old vice get the better of him and took one. Ed held out a lighter, Ben accepted, bending over slightly to do so.

The movement saved his life.

A bullet whizzed over him, passing right through where his head had been less than a second ago.

Within a speed that only comes from years of experience, both men had their guns out and trained on their attacker, the sound of Ben's cane clattering to the deck mixed with the sounds of their respective pistols. Four shots, two from each gun, caught their attacker in the chest. He was dressed all in black and had held a silenced pistol in his hand.

Neither of the old spies paused to enjoy the satisfying thump his corpse made as it hit the deck. No, they were busy scanning their flanks.

"Clear nine." Ed said, turning his attention to the hall where their attacker had come through.

"Tango three," the target was double tapping one of the security personnel when Ben's bullet caught him in the left temple

"Clear three." Ben turned and looked over the rail, scanning for watercraft.

"Tango twelve," this one was better armed than his predecessors, carrying a silenced submachine gun. It didn't help him as Ed fired two bullets and hit center mass.

"Clear twelve."

"Clear six."

"The one time I follow the no coms rule," Ed grumbled. These events happened under a complete communications blackout. Ostensibly, this was to prevent outside surveillance. In reality, it was to prevent the guests from spying on each other.

"You have spare ammunition?" Ben pulled a magazine out of his jacket and offered it to Ed.

"Yes, I may not be as paranoid as you Ben, but I know what precautions to take." Ed switched out his magazine for a fully loaded one.

They advanced with practiced ease, Ben on the right, Ed on the left. Ed dropped to a knee and checked the corpses of two of their attackers while Ben swept the corridor in search of another assailant.

"These guys were catering staff." Ed recognized their faces, the last time he'd seen them they'd been dressed in waiter uniforms.

"The French outsourced this?" That was quite possibly the most idiotic security lapse that he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, it was a last minute set up, the company's out of LS, Everyone on it was vetted. The security was handled by the FIB, background checks, time, location, personnel. The French are the hosts in name only. Didn't you read the brief?" Ed stood and scanned their six

"I wasn't sent one. I thought the French were handling their own security on this." They always remember the fancy invites, but the security briefs always seem to get lost, Ben thought.

"No, the yacht's a top tier fusion center, the FIB loaned it to the French for the party." They reached a door and stacked up on it, with Ed on the door and Ben taking point. A quick nod, the door opened, and he was in.

"Clear," an empty broom closet.

"Why would the FIB loan one of their major intelligence coordination centers out for a party? You Americans keep perplexing me," fusion center… wait a minute...

"Ed, you and I both know that there's no way that they slipped enough operatives into the catering staff to clear this place out and hold it against the counterattack."

"And I'm not hearing any struggles, they haven't hit the ballroom yet," Ed said, reaching the same conclusion as Ben.

"The caterers are the advance team." It was a standard tactic, the infiltration team took out the perimeter security and cleared a route to the main objective. It was exactly what he would've done.

"What's the target read Ed, you know it better than I do. Political bigwigs are obviously on the list, but an op like this isn't a straight slash and burn job. What else are they after?"

"The only targets on this boat are the bigwigs and the… servers." The pause told Ben more than anything, they were in deep shit.

"The servers have a lot of classified intel on them, I assume." They were advancing again, with a different destination.

"Data gathered on various companies, dirty money pipelines, evidence on terrorist financiers. Incendiary as it gets, it's all from the various agencies here tonight. And it's all got a solo designation." So if we lose it here, we just lose it. Solo designation meant that it could only be kept on one server at a time, it was reserved for the kind of intel that would get entire agencies disbanded if it went public. Ed had mixed feelings about it.

"Bottom deck, near the engine room." They passed a couple of corpses along the way, security and staff mostly, it appeared that none of the others had managed to take out any of the attackers, didn't even seem like the alarm had been sounded yet. These guys were either pros, or they had damn good intel.

"We've got two options. We can alert the people in the ball room and minimize casualties, but I guarantee that the advance team already has people moving on the servers. Or we can secure the servers and run the risk of a mass casualty event. This is your turf Ed, it's your call." Ben peeked around a corner, though he was starting to get a good idea of how the infiltrators were taking the ship.

"Clear," they'd most likely divided their forces, he was assuming a ten man team. It was the most likely number and the best for the op. Four men on each side of the ship to eliminate perimeter security teams and clear an avenue of approach for the main force, two men to secure the server room.

"We-" The sound of explosions coming from the ballroom made the decision for them.

The main force had arrived.

"Servers" Ed said and they started sprinting down the corridor.

"Tango one" a man in body armor popped out from behind a corner ahead of them. Ed three quick shots, suppressing the man and allowing Ben to line up a head shot.

"Tango eleven" a second armored man fired blindly around the corner opposite to the first attacker. Once again, Ed laid down suppressing fire, Ben launched himself into a roll and fired a round into the man's knee, immediately following it up with a bullet to the man's head. He popped up into a standing position and scanned the hallway for more attackers.

"Clear."

"Strip these guys for their gear, security's gotta be dead by now if they're hitting the ballroom, no risk of friendly fire." Ben nodded, Ed was right, it was a sad reality, but still reality.

"These guys are better equipped, but they certainly didn't seem much better trained than the guys on the outer deck." That was something else, the infiltrators seemed very skilled in quiet killing, but could barely last a few minutes in a straight up fire fight. This was turning into something very interesting. The vests were a bit loose, but some quick manipulation of the straps fixed that. The grenades on their belts explained the explosions they'd heard earlier.

They managed to make their way to the bottom deck without running into any more attackers. They didn't seem to be interested in taking the boat, much less a hostage situation. They were playing it smart; get in, get the objective, kill as many people as possible, get the hell out.

They didn't find any resistance until they were almost to the server room.

Two men had set up some barricades to use as cover, a much smarter move than those of their colleagues. Ed made a series of hand signs and Ben nodded he pulled one of the grenades he'd taken from the two men they'd killed and lobbed it down the hall at the enemy, leaving them with two options, die by explosion or run away, leaving cover. They chose the latter and were shot for their trouble.

The pair stepped over the corpses toward the server room, then-

BOOM!

Their vision went white and a ringing filled their ears. They leapt back behind cover, but as Ben's vision began to clear, he saw a figure in black sprinting down the hall, immediately, he took off after the figure.

They sprinted down the corridors, the figure's kept making turn after turn, carefully avoiding straightaways, preventing any of his shots from making their mark. He was gaining on the figure, only a few steps behind him.

Closer…

Closers…

Got him! Ben snatched at the man's black shirt, only to be tackled from behind.

"Ha! Haki teidat te terroristinpaska!" Ben forced his weight up, rolling himself to the top of the hold and bashing his attacker in the face. Scarcely noticing that it was the FSIS officer who'd talked to him earlier. He returned to his chase. It was the vest, it had to be the vest, fuck.

He rushed down the hall that his prey had taken and finding that it led to the outer deck of the ship. He caught sight of the figure in black once more, sprinting toward the back of the ship. The cool sea air rushed against his face as he dashed across the deck.

He rounded the corner to find the figure with his hands up, being held at gunpoint by Ed.

"How'd you know he'd come here?" Ben asked as he leveled his gun on the masked figure, who he was now sure was a man.

"There's only one place to attach a small boat to this ship, I took a gamble. Now secure him, will you?

"Te sekkoitettu!" It was the FSIS man again, the distraction lasted less than a second, but that second was more than enough for the masked man, he took a flying leap over the rail, assuming a jackknife dive as he fell. Ed and Ben looked over the rail, only to find that the man had disappeared beneath the waves.

Ben shut the irate FSIS operative up with a hard palm strike to the jaw, leaving the man unconscious, for if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to shoot the man, Ben turned to Ed.

"So…" he said in a deadpan tone.

"What was that you said about things being slow?"

 **So guys what do you think? I like the first part of this chapter, but I feel like it went downhill once the action started. I love these two characters, but Ben and Ed are way harder to write than I first thought. I'm trying to give them a hardened cold warrior feel, show that these men have seen the fall of the nations, a few of which they arranged. But I also want to show that these guys have known each other for decades and have been through nine different kinds of hell together.**

 **That's a hard balance to find.**

 **R &R people, new chapter next week.**


	8. We Didn't Start the Fire

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, an actual old fashioned bell, the novelty of it struck Ben. But then again, this was a pre-war building. He stepped off the elevator into the top floor office. It looked no different than any other office, a sea of cubicles filled with men and women in business wear. On the books, it was registered as an office of the Department of Agriculture, and for the most part, it was. The only thing that made it any different from a normal government office was what lay beyond a nondescript door in a storeroom.

Ben quickly made his way to the receptionist and told her that he had an appointment with Nicholas Miller to discuss pesticide development. This combination made the receptionist take her hand off of the shotgun that she'd had trained on him under the desk. She smiled and directed him to the storeroom. He thanked her and continued on his way.

The door was hidden behind a shelf of beet projections or some such nonsense. It was an effective ruse, hiding something important behind something no one cared about. It still didn't make dragging a shelf out of the way any less annoying.

Stepping into the room beyond, he found a room with dark grey walls, a conference table covered in laptops and papers, and a projector screen covering one of the walls. Out of the three people in the room, only Ed acknowledged his presence. It was a SCIF, a sensitive compartmentalized information facility. It was a TEMPEST hardened strong room meant to ensure the closest thing to complete security possible.

"Ben, good to see you. What's the prime minister's verdict?" Ed hid it well, but Ben couldn't help notice the slightest twitch. Smoking wasn't allowed in SCIFs, and knowing Ed, he'd been in there all day.

"He's in." The current prime minister was a personal friend who usually deferred to Ben when it came to covert operations.

"Good, then we can get this joint task force going. That attack was good for one thing at least, I've been able to get more done in the past three days than I have in the last month." Ed's breath smelled heavily of mint gum, his backup vice.

"Calling it a joint task force almost makes this sound officially sanctioned and legal, instead of just the two of us illegally sharing intelligence. So, can I assume that your meetings have gone well." Quite a rarity when dealing with politicians, Ben thought.

"Very well, which brings me to the good news, every op in the pipeline has just been greenlit. The guys in D.C. are scared witless and out for blood. They don't want to see it and they don't want to know how I get it, but they want it, and I've been given carte blanche to string the bastards up and bleed them out." If Ben didn't know better, he'd almost swear that he detected a touch of giddiness in Ed's voice.

"Speaking of the incident, thank you for inviting me for a private briefing." He assumed that the other two currently sharing the room with them had to do with that. He recognized both of them, he respected them, he felt sympathy for one of them, and he hated both of them.

"No problem, we're briefing the rest of the international community on the results of the investigation tomorrow, but I wanted your thoughts." Ed gestured toward the table and they both stepped forward to examine the evidence arranged there.

"So, you've told me the good news, now tell me the bad news." There always had to be bad news.

Ed sighed and shook his head, "Karen bring it up." The sole woman in the room started tapping on a tablet.

"The investigation team recovered this from a dropped cell phone from the boat." The projector lit up, displaying a diagram of the yacht where the attack had occurred. Several X's and arrows were labelled guard, the central ballroom and the server room were circled and labelled.

"This doesn't sit well with me, what other intel did the investigators find?" It didn't make any sense. The diagram was replaced by a series of pictures, all of them were young males, and all of them were dead.

"Despite the tactical gear and the advanced tactics, none of these guys were on our radar. The youngest was seventeen, the oldest was twenty two. Every one of them is a Los Santos native, from what we could find, they all meet the usual psych profiles for home grown militants. Loners, nasty family lives, dead end jobs, most had one form of mental health issue or another, the whole nine yards. We found that they'd all visited the websites of various Islamic militant groups, but no trips to the Middle East and no military experience." The usual stuff, but it wasn't right.

"The gear and the training mean they've got some real whales backing them. They're all exactly what you'd expect… out of a martyr brigade. A bunch of lone wolf attacks I could see, even a coordinated series of suicide bombings, but a high level raid on an intelligence summit. These guys were pawns at best, a smokescreen at worst." The attacker who'd escaped came to mind, he had certainly seemed a fair bit more competent then the rest. It would make sense, a large screen of cannon fodder to hide a true objective. It made sense, but at the same time… it didn't.

Ed was on the same wavelength, "I know, that's not a tactic the bastards usually use, but here's the real kicker, that catering company they were a part of, it's only been around for a couple of months, and it's set to close up for good in two weeks. We checked the remaining employees out, they're all clean."

"Has everyone except you in the American national security apparatus gone completely insane?" That never should have gotten past even the most cursory background check. Even disregarding the fact that a number of their employees were easy targets for militant recruitment, the youth of the company would have already barred them from any high level events.

"More likely than not, but the more likely cause is this man." A picture of a middle aged man in a blue polo appeared on the screen.

"Steven Haines, he was put in charge of the FIB counterterrorism task force a few months ago after Daniel Anderson was assassinated. Decorated agent, used to work the organized crimes desk, landed a couple busts there. He was reassigned to the counterterrorism task force after my team and I handed the mafia to the FIB on a silver platter." Ben could see where this was going.

"You think he's an asset for whoever hit the summit."

"A couple of our assets in the mafia let us know that this guy was peddling himself like a Las Venturas whore. He was taking money from every major criminal organization in Liberty City except the Bellics. This was outside of my purview and all evidence was obtained illegally, so it just went into my files." Ed kept any seemingly useless bits of intel on file in his personal records, it was a habit both he and Ben maintained religiously.

"So you think he found a few new clients when he moved into counterterrorism, and that those clients paid him to handle all the details to make sure that they could get a hold of the server." Not unexpected, as they say, capitalism finds a way, Ben thought.

"He was the one in charge of the security, time, and location of the summit." So they had their inside man.

"What about the gear?" Ben knew that where they got their equipment came from was as important as the men who used it.

"Dead end, they came from an arms shipment the Aztecas were moving. The shipment was ripped off by this man." The screen changed to a Royal Canadian Air Force ID photo.

"Trevor Philips, Canadian born, enlisted in the RCAF straight out of high school, took them a full four years at the air force academy to realize that he wasn't psychologically fit for duty. Ran with one of our mutual friends in Los Santos for a number of years until the incident in North Yankton led to him going off the grid and becoming a midlevel drug lord in Blaine County. He's been running guns and meth ever since. No ideological bent, he sells to whoever pays."

"What about the ballroom, could the drive be a decoy for an assassination?" It was unlikely, but so far this wasn't following any of the other standard expectations for a terrorist attack.

"No, they killed a few political players, but none were in any major positions of power, mostly bean counters working financial counterterrorism desks. The part of the ballroom attack that I can't understand is why they didn't use suicide bombers. The footage from the ballroom has the group that reinforced the advance team storming the place with assault rifles and grenades. They could've had a much higher body count if they'd outfitted the infiltration team with suicide vests. Instead they kill a few people before the security team guns them down. Not only is this against the standard tactics, it's not even practical."

"Did your investigators ever find out how the reinforcements got on the yacht?" they'd searched the ship and the corpses, no wet suits, no boats in the vicinity.

"We're assuming that they came by a boat that left immediately after dropping them off. We haven't been able to find it or whoever was driving it. Our flashbang wielding friend probably rendezvoused with it after he escaped." The screen changed to show satellite pictures of where the yacht had been anchored for the party.

"There's only one place that's close enough to serve as a launching point." It's all coming together, Ben thought. It didn't make sense, but it was all connecting to one place.

"San Andreas." The screen changed to satellite pictures of Los Santos and Blaine County.

"It's all connecting to San Andreas. The attackers were all Los Santos natives, the guns came from an arms dealer in Blaine county, Haines is head of a task force based in Los Santos, and the only viable launch points are in San Andreas." It was the common link.

"Agreed, so what do you think?" Ed gestured and the screen went dark.

"I think that absolutely none of this makes any sense. The gear, the intel, the inside connection, it all smells of a well-heeled backer. However, the execution was completely amateur, I can think of a thousand ways that they could've done better, regardless of whether they were after the drive or the ballroom. And there's one thing that still doesn't sit well with me." Intelligence work didn't often make sense, but it was ridiculous in this case.

"The cell phone?"

"The cell phone," Ben agreed.

"Why would they run the risk of brining it, much less dropping it. The only reason that I can think of is…"

"That it was left there for us to find," Ben said, finishing Ed's thought. "But why would they do that?"

They stared silently at the files that lay before them for a long time, each pondering the issue with insight of their decades of experience.

Finally coming to a conclusion, Ben spoke, "Well, I know one way to narrow down our field of targets."

Ed looked back at him, "Los Santos."

Ben nodded, "It's the common thread, we burn away everything else, whatever's left in the ashes has to be either what we're looking for or something connected to it."

Ed thought for a moment, "best case scenario, we find who we're after and roll up the entire network, worst case, we send a whole lot of terrorist scum shuffling off the mortal coil, let's do it."

"Normally, I'd speak from the Torah, but I believe Joshua is more fitting for this occasion." Ben always liked to quote a religious text before undertaking large operations.

"And it shall be, when ye have taken the city, that ye shall set the city on fire."

…

Aliza lay comfortably in her bed, enjoying the sound of her current partner's breathing, it had been a long, intense night. Lily certainly proved to be quite the skilled submissive, she was even better than she had been on the plane. They had an enjoyable friends with benefits arrangement going, both acknowledged that they shared no romantic feelings for the other, but they were both attractive and their sexual preferences complimented each other.

Neither one of them saw any reason to complicate things any more than that.

BZZZZZT, BZZZZT, her phone vibrated on her nightstand. Lily stirred slightly, before rolling over and pulling the covers more tightly around her body.

Aliza was tempted not to answer it, but it could be Gerald with a top priority job, or it could be Lamar in trouble again, or any number of important matters that had become her concern since arriving in the city.

She rolled over and snatched her phone off the nightstand, "hello."

The voice on the other end of the line awoke memories of passion, danger, and death from years past.

"Shalom Commander."

 **Wooh! Barely made the deadline I set for getting this chapter out this week. This is one of those chapters that I don't like, but is necessary. I don't like chapters that are purely exposition and set up unless I can work some style into them, which in this case, I couldn't. it's too dialogue heavy for my taste. This also feels kind of forced, so I might have to make some changes later on.**

 **But I suppose that briefings are a boring part of the job in the world of intelligence, so it makes sense that this would be a boring chapter.**

 **What do you guys think?**

 **By the way, has anyone guessed who the mutual friend in Los Santos is?**

 **I'm going to try and get the next chapter out in the next week, but between college, work, and volunteering at the library, don't hold me to that deadline.**

 **R &R people.**


	9. Welcome Back Player 1

"Is this line secure?" Aliza's voice was hushed, calm betraying none of the emotions that were bubbling just under the surface.

"Of course."

"Give me a moment." Aliza slipped out of bed and walked naked to her bedroom door. She looked back to make sure that Lily was still asleep, she was, and headed up the stairs to the main floor of the triplex apartment.

"Lester, kindly tell me what the hell you're doing calling me."

"What no 'good to hear from you old friend'. Not even a 'how are you'." God his sense of humor is still terrible, she thought.

"Good to hear from you old friend, how are you, why the hell are you calling me?" She headed for her study. She could count the number of reasons why a paranoid introvert such as Lester was contacting her on one hand, all of them would require weapons.

"You're in my neck of the woods, and I've got some very important things to talk to you about, you'll receive an address, come to it tomorrow, and come ready for some real action." The line went dead, typical Lester.

She checked the clock, it was three in the morning, certainly not the first time she'd been woken up in the middle of the night by a cryptic phone call since moving to Los Santos. Instead of going for her weapons chest as she'd planned, she went for her computer.

She opened her laptop and pulled a bottle of Pinot Noir and a glass from her desk drawers. She poured herself a glass and while she gave the wine a chance to breathe, she began her research. If they were calling her back in, something had to have gone completely to hell. She started with general search engines. Israel was launching another push into the West Bank to root out militants, important, but nothing that would pull her back in. Syria was still a mess, but that wasn't the kind of thing that she would be brought in for. A major player in Hezbollah had been killed, looked like the work of some of her old colleagues, nothing they'd need her for.

Taking a sip of the now aerated Pinot, she moved on to more specialized databases. A relatively large number of forensic accountants and financial counterterrorism specialists had recently been killed, relative because forensic accounting was not generally a high risk profession. The entries were all spread out across various intelligence databases and the details on how they were killed were all pretty vague. All of them were listed as killed in action, which eliminated natural causes for any of them. The sheer volume of deaths in such a specific category meant that they were connected. She searched for any mention of their deaths in their respective countries' news outlets and found none were being reported as terrorist attacks, a mugging here, a car accident there, a few domestic accidents spread around, it all reeked of a cover up. The most common trait was that each death was said to have happened outside of their home country.

She leaned back in her chair and nursed her wine while she processed the information. The deaths were connected, all of them were in the same field and all were listed to have died in the last few days. There was a chance of it being a coincidence, though not a large one. The fact that it had warranted a cover up meant that they had died under extreme circumstances, either they died in a terrorist attack or a country had arranged the series of assassinations. The multinational coordination in the cover up ruled out a country, so that meant it was a terrorist attack. The only question was why they hadn't been killed in a more dynamic way. Terrorists used bombs and AK's, not silencers and poisons. They were attention whores, a terrorist attack was about as subtle as a fireworks show, it should be all over the news.

Unless… a summit, it was the only thing that made sense to Aliza. A covert intelligence summit would be out of public view, explaining the lack of news coverage, multinational, explaining the coordination, and they were usually specialized to one facet of intelligence, explaining the specific professions of the dead. Terrorists being able to locate, infiltrate, and strike a secure clandestine gathering such as that would certainly be embarrassing enough to warrant a cover up. It was the only thing that made sense, but her mind kept going back to the fact that it wasn't on the news. Even with a covert attack and a well-executed cover up, the group responsible would still be all over news outlets and social media touting their victory. It just wasn't the way terrorists worked…

"Never picked you for a morning drinker," Aliza caught sight of Lily standing in the doorway. She slowly turned around, taking in all of the delightful curves of the naked woman's form.

"Only when work calls at ungodly hours of the night." Lily was a knockout, no question about it, her plastic surgeon was incredibly good. Though there were very few things that could be hidden from someone who had gotten as close as Aliza had. Despite this, there was no spark between them, the sex was wild, it was intense, but it was just that, sex.

"Problems?" Aliza finished the last of her glass, Lily's question was actually quite valid. Was it a problem, was it her problem? Barely a year ago she'd stepped on a plane to Liberty City, swearing that she was moving on with her life, was she really willing to just jump back into it.

"An old friend called me, the market took a nasty hit. Knowing him, he'll want my investment in one of his ventures. I'm trying to decide whether to play it safe and hold back or take my chances and see how it all turns out. He wants to meet today." Lily was under the impression that Aliza was a former call girl turned day trader. It was always best to stick to one cover as often as possible.

"I don't know much about stocks, but I think you should take the meeting. If you like what you hear say yes, if not, say no. What's the worst that could happen?" Aliza could think of a few things, but Lily had a point.

"Either way, I'm going to grab a shower, feel free to join me." With that Lily spun on her heel and headed for the bathroom.

Aliza smirked, Lily was right, what was the harm in taking the meeting.

With that thought, she stood, decided that some morning aerobics were in order, and headed for the shower.

…

The address was a park, odd choice for a meeting of the nature that Aliza expected. She scanned the area as she pulled up to the curve on her Bati, but Lester was nowhere to be found. Her phone buzzed, connecting to the Bluetooth in her helmet.

"Glad you could make it commander, there's a man in a red dress shirt coming out of the public bathrooms to your left, he's just delivered a suicide vest with several pounds of military grade semtex to a home grown militant. If you're ready to get back into the big leagues again, answer this, do you have visual confirmation on the target?"

The old habits kicked in and before her conscious mind had even registered it, she'd identified the man in question and began mentally mapping her possible approaches. She was back in that field operations state of mind, a state of mind developed from training to allow for split second decision making.

True to form, her decision came in less than a second, "Visual confirmation achieved, it's too messy to engage the courier here, no solution."

"Trail him until the opportunity presents itself." Lester was acting oddly professional, that most likely meant he had someone standing over his shoulder. This was a test.

"And the recipient?" He was most likely still in the public bathroom, it would be tricky, but it was possible, and he was the more immediate threat.

"Forget him, he's handled, focus on the courier." So that meant that there was at least one more operator on this job, so far that amounted to a bare minimum of a three man team.

"Soft or hard," did they want her to make it look like an accident, just kill him, or did they want to send a message.

"Handle it however the opportunity presents itself." So she could kill him in whatever way she wanted, good that made things easier.

Her target walked up to a grey sedan and got in, "target is leaving in a grey sedan. Do we have technical support?"

"The traffic grid is at my fingertips, as long as he's in the city, I've got eyes on him." Good, that would make tailing him much easier. She gave Lester the make, model, and license plate number of the car as she waited for him to get a decent distance away then sped after him. She lost sight of him as he turned at an intersection.

She turned onto the street he'd gone down, but he was nowhere to be found. "I've lost visual contact, give me a path Lester."

"Go straight down the road your on and take a right." She did as she was told, but there was still no sign of the courier.

"Left at the next intersection, then another right." It was becoming more and more clear that the courier was running counter-surveillance, twists and turns to ensure no one was following him. It continued like this for some time, the courier kept making random turns, going off in one direction, doubling back, speeding up, and slowing down. All of it standard procedure for any half decent criminal or terrorist, nothing that she hadn't dealt with before. Lester's technical support with the traffic cameras rendered the entire affair pointless.

She trailed him at a safe distance until he finally seemed to be moving toward his destination.

"He's getting onto the interstate, there aren't as many cameras."

Aliza took his meaning, "Understood, reestablishing visual contact."

She weaved through the spaces between the cars until she was about two cars behind the courier. This entire operation felt off, the hit could have just as easily have taken place in the bathroom with the recipient of the suicide vest, it would have been simpler and involved less risk. Then there was the fact that a suicide vest was on American soil to begin with. If they were in the Middle East it would've been a normal operation. Africa, sure, Asia, less likely but possible, Europe, highly unlikely but still viable, but the United States? Either there were new pipelines coming into the west coast, or someone had lied to her.

They were nearing Chumash when the courier turned into the drive of a beach house. Aliza pulled her motorcycle into a parking lot in front of the house. She assessed her chances, the house was relatively similar to those surrounding it. A condo with a great deal of windows two levels of balconies looking over a gated inner courtyard. If she had one of her long rifles, she'd have attempted a shot from one of the ridges facing the house. But she hadn't, she'd only brought close range weaponry, a silenced pistol, a high quality garrote, a vial of one of her poisons.

All in all, she didn't much like her chances of a frontal assault, she could see at least one other person in the house, and she wanted to do this cleanly.

"Lester, a frontal assault is out of the question, I need an alternative entrance." Lester was quiet for a few moments, then finally spoke.

"There's a back door facing the beach, I've hacked the house's security system, it'll be unlocked." Aliza grabbed the garrote and the pistol from the saddle bags on her Bati, tucking them both into a handbag she'd also brought in the saddlebags. She left the jacket on her bike, it would make her look out of place on the beach. It was a bit of a walk to get around the condos and onto the beach, but it wasn't long before she found what she was looking for. There was a stairway leading from the beach up to a pair of French doors.

She pulled a yoga mat out of her handbag and went through the poses, using each one to scan the beach. It wasn't exactly the best day for seaside fun, being mid-December. This worked for and against her, it meant there was less of a risk of her being spotted, but it also meant that if anyone saw her, she'd stand out more.

Once she was reasonably certain that no one was watching her, she made her way up the stairs to the French doors, just as Lester said. One thing caught her attention though, the lock, it was a simple chain. Lester was good, but no amount of computer skill could hack a titanium chain. Either the courier was dumb enough to leave his back door unlocked, unlikely for someone who could move a suicide vest on U.S. soil. Either that, or the far more likely option, Lester had lied to her.

That… was unacceptable.

She brushed those thoughts aside for a moment, regardless of the circumstances, she was too far into the operation to pull out now. She had to see this through.

She moved through each room, she didn't try to hide her presence, she adopted a comfortable confident gait as if she had every right to be there. There were two distinct approaches to infiltration, one was to make sure no one saw you, the other was to make no one question your presence. She was adept at both, but preferred the latter.

It was all modern chique, but overdone. She liked modern styles, but not to when it was excessive. This place was just trying too hard. None of the furniture even looked comfortable, she found the man she'd seen from outside passed out on the couch with a needle in his arm. She shook her head, she hated heroin.

She heard the shower running downstairs, she'd found her target. She made her way into what appeared to be a guest room connecting to the garage. Sure enough, laying in a clothes hamper was the red dress shirt her target had been wearing. She removed the garrote from her hand bag and got into a decent position.

Ten minutes later, the man walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

The garrote wire was around his throat before he could react, he thrashed and tried to get a grip on Aliza as the wire dug into his jugular and carotid artery. He stopped struggling after about eight seconds, she waited until they hit the thirty second mark to make entirely sure that he was dead.

She let his corpse fall to the ground and flipped him over, snapping a quick picture with her phone.

She sent Lester a text with the picture and a single sentence before exfiltrating.

Mission accomplished, we need to talk.

 **Missed my deadline by about 4 hours, but otherwise successful, I wasn't going to have the assassination in this chapter, but the last chapter was so dialogue heavy that I figured we needed Aliza to kill someone.**

 **I'm not going to give myself deadlines anymore, school and work are taking more and more of my time, but I'll still try and maintain some level of regularity with my posts.**

 **R &R people. **


	10. It's High School All Over Again

Lester Crest was a patient man. He'd built his life on the words of Brutus, he paid close attention to the tide of man and made sure that he was always in the right place at the right time to seize it at the flood.

It had begun in high school when the wasting disease really started limiting his ability to move. He'd gone from the shy kid in the corner that no one noticed to the freak who needed a cane to get through the halls. He'd learned an important lesson in those dreaded halls. If he wanted to survive, he needed something to offer, and he needed to get in bed with the right people. Back then, that had meant being the cheerleaders' pet geek, after that it had meant playing mastermind for petty crooks, and after 2001, it meant working for some truly dangerous people.

People like the associate that he was awaiting rather impatiently. His newfound impatience came from the fact that there was a distinct possibility that he was going to die by her hand. It was times like this that made him wonder how he'd gotten himself mixed up with this insanity.

He'd first come to the attention of the Institute and the Agency shortly after 9/11. He'd picked up on a pattern of suspicious individuals attending flight schools in the United States and followed up on it. He kept digging, and through surveillance, communications intercepts, and a few educated guesses, he'd worked out exactly what the terrorists had planned two days before the incident occurred. He'd sent the information to the FIB and the IAA, and on the morning of September 10, 2001, he received their response. The email had been short and to the point, it thanked him for his concern and stated that they would look into it. It had been a blow off and Lester knew it. So instead of simply sitting on his hands and watching the towers fall, he decided that if it had to happen, he might as well profit off of it.

He'd taken every dime he had and shorted airline industry. The profit margin had been truly massive, he'd used a number of different ratlines and hid his new fortune in dozens of secure bank accounts outside of the reach of the U.S. government. He left the money to cool off for two months, never touching it, never mentioning it to anyone. Finally, when he was absolutely sure that he was completely in the clear, he accessed the money to move it around and make it easier to access.

The very next day, two men showed up at his house. One representing the Agency and the other representing the Institute. They told him that they knew about the short selling, and that if he didn't agree to work for them, he was going disappear into a deep dark pit where he would never be heard from again because of his connection to the worst terrorist attack in the history of the United States. He told them that nothing about that trade had been illegal and that he'd sent the information to the proper authorities who'd done absolutely nothing with it. The two men had looked at each other and were quiet for a few minutes.

Then they presented him with a file that laid out piece by piece why he was wanted for questioning by almost every major intelligence and law enforcement agency in the western hemisphere and that several terrorist groups had issued a fatwa calling for his murder. They made it clear that they were the only ones who could make it all go away. His options were to work for them, disappear into a deep dark pit, or death.

That was how he found himself in his current situation, sitting in a safehouse in Los Santos, waiting for a beautiful Israeli assassin who might kill him.

He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the cameras monitoring the outside of the house and the street. He didn't bother to get any of the weapons that he had in the house, she would simply take whatever weapon he tried to use and use it on him. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that if she wanted him dead, he was going to die. He'd seen her in action enough to know how good she was.

First the camera feeds went down.

A second later the power went out, drenching the room in darkness.

And then he heard her voice.

"I thought we had an agreement Lester." He couldn't see her, his eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her hand around his jugular, and he could certainly feel cold metal of her silencer between his eyes.

"If you can't tell me something, you just tell me that. But you never, never, lie to me about an operation. How did you get that back door unlocked, and why did you lie about it?" Lester couldn't speak with her squeezing on his neck, so he just tried to gesture toward the figure behind her.

"Would you please release Mr. Crest?" Aliza must have recognized his voice because she immediately did as she was asked, leveling her gun at the source of the voice instead.

"What the hell are you doing here David?" Lester ignored the two assassins and focused on massaging his freshly bruised neck.

"Waiting for you, and to answer one of your questions, he lied because I told him to. I needed a way to get you over here as fast as possible. In regards to your other question, I'm sure you already know the answer to that." David looked rather calm for someone with a gun to his head, why he couldn't have just told Aliza to come over immediately was beyond Lester.

"The other guy in the house is an asset, it didn't take a genius to figure that out. I just wanted to see if Lester would lie about it. I had to know why he lied before I killed him."

"That is bullshit, Aliza, you and I both know that if you had planned to kill Lester, you wouldn't have bothered with the theatrics. I mean seriously, the cameras, the lights, are you taking your cues from low budget horror movies now?"

"It worked" Aliza gestured towards the large dark spot on the crotch of Lester's pants, "and you still haven't told me why you're here."

"I'll brief you on the situation fully once I've disposed of this." He placed a khaki vest weighted down with several bricks of semtex on Lester's bed.

"And I'm the theatrical one." Aliza arched one of her eyebrows.

"It gets the point across, I simply wanted to say, welcome back." David folded his arms.

"Thank you, and fuck you, don't yank me around when we're in the middle of operations from now on." Aliza tucked the pistol into her hand bag and turned to Lester.

"Don't ever lie to me again on an operation, I don't care if you've got a gun to you're head Lester, you know all the code words, and you know how I'm going to react if I think I've been played. If I can't trust you not to lie, I can't trust you to have my back, and I certainly can't trust you to tell me who to kill. I understand why you felt like you had to this time, but you are never to do it again, are we clear?" Aliza looked at him with an expression not of anger, but rather firm chastisement.

"Crystal."

"Good," she turned back to David, "I'll expect that briefing within a week."

David nodded, then Aliza turned to leave.

He heard her mutter to herself as she left.

"God, I need a fucking drink."

 **Ask and you shall receive Venom**

 **This is a short little conclusion to the chapter that I put out earlier this week. It's mostly to give Lester some background and give you guys a little taste of another character.**


	11. Hot Coffee in Paradise

Coffee, why in god's name did she choose coffee? She needed a drink, and for some reason she went with coffee. She knew the answer of course, if David was in Los Santos, getting drunk was out of the question.

"You sure you don't want me to Irish up that coffee for you Miss Brennan, looks like you've had a hell of a day."

Aliza looked at the bartender. "Do I want you to, sure, can I let you, no. I need a clear mind right now. It's pretty complicated, you don't want to know."

The bartender shrugged and moved on to one of his other customers. She was in one of her favorite watering holes. It was a classy place, high end liquor, foreign beer, professional bartender, and an interior that could've easily passed for a London gentlemen's club. It all screamed old world opulence.

Her thoughts turned back to David. What the hell was he doing here?

She had a feeling that it had to do with the deaths of all those analysts, but this wasn't David's territory, figuratively or literally.

David and his people were a strike team, not assassins. They were the hammer to her team's scalpel. They stormed the strongholds of radical clerics and prevented attacks on Israeli soil. His team addressed the enemies of Israel in the Middle East whereas her team handled the international networks.

"Hey, it's you." The last time she'd heard that voice, she'd dropped its owner off at an emergency room in the middle of the night.

"Hi," she turned around as Tracey De Santa sat down beside her. "You're looking better."

"Yeah, rehab is shitty to go through, but you usually come out healthier than you go in." Tracey ordered what Aliza was having.

"If you don't mind me asking…?"

"Prescription meds, painkillers and antidepressants mostly, with some ADD meds for when I needed to be super focused." Aliza was put slightly off balance by how nonchalant Tracey was about her addictions. Addiction counseling hadn't been part of her psychology degree, but Aliza knew enough to be aware that the fact that Tracey was open about it to a relative stranger was either a good thing or a very bad thing.

"You seem fairly laid back about it," it was a weak return, but Aliza's mind was on other things.

"Well, when it's your third time in rehab, you're pretty much used to talking about it. It's either accept it and move on or be really fucking ashamed about it. Shame isn't really my thing. And before you ask, the first time was for an eating disorder, and the second was coke." Well, she certainly has her Los Santos party girl credentials, Aliza thought, but kicked herself for being cruel.

"Spend a lot of time on the LS party circuit?" Aliza had lived that life in Europe, she knew where it could get you if you weren't careful.

"Up until last week, yeah. After you dropped me off, the hospital tested me and found enough pain meds in my system to sedate a horse, so I had to spend a week detoxing at a place on the mainland." The bare minimum legally required by the state of San Andreas. God you have to love Americans and their drug laws, Aliza thought.

"Sorry, so why aren't you at a club then?"

"No, don't apologize. I'm giving this whole sober thing a shot, so my friends think I'm boring. Well that and I'm not getting back together with Mark." That got Aliza's attention, the bastard just kept popping up.

"Why do they care if you and Mark are togeth… Wait, he's your drug connection isn't he?" Mark certainly seemed the type to dabble in drug dealing to pretend to be dangerous.

"Yeah, he got designer drugs for my friends, but he won't come near me or any of my friends since you beat the shit out of him. My friends like free drugs, so they really want me to get back with him, but I'm like no, he beat the shit out of me. So my drugged up mom sent me looking for my drunk father and that's how I ended up here drinking coffee with you. That's my fuck up story, what's yours?" Mark's a drug dealer, Aliza mentally noted that tid bit for later use.

She took a long sip of her coffee, "What makes you think that I have one."

Tracey giggled, "you're sitting in a bar drinking coffee, I've spent enough time in bars to know that means you want to get drunk, but you need a clear head. So you've got my story, what's yours?"

Aliza smiled and shook her head slightly, smart girl.

"Well, if you really want to know. I'm a day trader these days, a freelancer, but I used to be with a major firm. I started out in venture capitalism, managing assets, making sure they didn't completely screw up and ensuring profitability. It was surprisingly similar to my high school job at a daycare. Eventually they moved me into foreign ventures. I did most of my work in the European and Asian markets, but I did a lot of work in developing markets in Africa and South America. Mostly I handled liquidation, but I also handled acquisitions and brokered deals with other organizations." Corporate euphemisms, her main fallback to tell the whole truth without saying a word. It's like they designed the vocabulary of the two fields to be interchangeable.

"So you're into stocks or something, my dad does day trades too. So what does that have to do with why you're here?" The bartender brought Tracey her coffee.

"I'm getting to that. I took a meeting with a couple of old associates. An analyst from my department and my counterpart specializing in hostile takeovers in Middle Eastern markets. They brought me in on a joint venture that I'm fairly certain is designed to address a recent hit the market took. It's an invite back to my old firm, I promised myself when I left that I wouldn't go back, but it took less than a minute for me to slip back into my old life." It felt good to talk about the situation with someone, even if it was hidden behind a cover story.

"Like an addict finding a pill bottle," Tracey said.

"Exactly," Aliza chuckled ruefully, it was a fairly accurate depiction of what she had just done.

They talked for a while longer, Tracey talked about her dysfunctional family. An alcoholic father pining for his glory days and refusing to accept the fact that his family was dysfunctional, an emotionally stunted stoner little brother who'd never grown up, and a sex addicted mother who'd gotten Tracey into pills in the first place.

"So, yeah, my life is like one of those stupid reality shows, except it doesn't make me famous." Tracey let out a small, bitter, laugh.

Aliza decided not to respond to that, asking if Tracey still loved her family would be cliché and probably annoy her. Agreeing with her would just come off as patronizing.

"So, not sure if your into this, but want to go back to your place and fuck."

If Aliza wasn't trained to keep her composure, that question would have had her spraying coffee everywhere.

"Am I into women, yes, but if you don't mind me asking, what makes you want to have sex with a stranger?" Aliza wasn't averse to having sex with Tracey, she was an attractive woman, but one had to question things when propositioned for random sex.

Tracey didn't miss a beat, "my shrink says daddy issues, but as to why I want to have sex with you in particular? Because you seem cool enough, you're hot, and it seems like we both need a good lay."

Aliza had to hand it to the girl, she'd never heard someone be so nonchalant about asking for sex, not to mention the fact that the she made a convincing argument.

"Alright, let me get my jacket."

Casting off her thoughts of David, for the moment at least, she stood up.

This might turn out to be a good night after all.

….

God, this turned out to be a shitty night.

Lieutenant Commander Andrew Daniels, current commanding officer of DEVGRU, commonly known as SEAL team six, thought this as he lay prone on the dirt in yet another hellhole.

He and his men had just finished an op in the Persian Gulf, only to find a new one waiting for them as they got back to the carrier. With no time for rest, they were resupplied and sent on their not-so-merry way. Two operations within a forty eight hour period, never a good sign.

Andrew didn't like this op, at all. Despite the way they were portrayed in the media, special operations were rarely sudden affairs. They were like grand musicals, every step carefully planned out thoroughly rehearsed, every possibility planned for. They'd been left to handle this op on the fly. Andrew was used to working with a five man team, but almost always in coordination with a larger force. This operation had no blocking force to prevent enemy reinforcements, no backup team, just him, his men, the helicopter extracting them, and a pair of Joint Strike Fighters that he had no contact with.

The other thing he didn't like was how scarce the briefing had been on details. They knew what their target looked like, but not who he was. They knew how many men they were likely to be facing, but not what faction they belonged to or what they were likely to be armed with.

It all screamed of a last minute decision by some bigwig in intelligence looking for a career booster.

Yes, it was fair to say that he hated everything about this mission, but he had to go through with it anyway. That was the life of a Navy Seal, bouncing from hot sandy hellholes to cold rocky shitholes to kill and possibly die for a bunch of bureaucratic assholes.

He wouldn't trade it for the world.

"Delphi, Python is within visual range of the objective."

"Good copy Python, you are clear to proceed, secure Chiron and move to point Lima for extract. Maintain radio silence until Chiron is secure."

"Python Copies all Delphi, going dark."

Andrew and his men crept along the creek bed until they reached the rear wall of the camp. The barbed wire on top of the wall was stretched taught, rather than rolled. It was a classic amateur mistake. He and his men tossed a specially made rubber tarp over the wire and boosted each other over the wall.

They snuck along the rear wall of the camp's barracks until they found their entrance. Stacking up, they made a soft entrance, they found no one in the main living quarters. It was like any other barracks in the world, bunk beds and footlockers along the walls with a clear path running through the center. Andrew's sniper, Mark Dunn, spoke over the comms. "All hostiles are in the training yard, you should be clear to move on Chiron."

"Good copy Apollo." God I hate these stupid call signs, Andrew thought, why can't covert ops types just use the NATO phonetic alphabet like everyone else is beyond me. It was one of the things that told him that this op was concocted by some new intel officer who'd seen too many spy flicks as a kid.

They spread out and carefully cleared the room, it took extra time, but Andrew was a firm believer double checking everything. He'd seen too many men die because of intel had misjudged numbers or a sweep hadn't been thorough enough.

"Clear left," Estevez said.

"Clear right," Holmes said.

"Clear Center, move up." The target's quarters were on the second floor. Andrew and his team cleared the stairwell and moved on to the officers' quarters. Chiron was supposed to be in his room at the end of the hall. Once again, they stacked up on the door. Andrew motioned to his team, giving them a three count with his fingers. Three, two, one… breach.

His team surged into the room and grabbed the target before he could react. It was a quick, perfectly executed, movement. Within fifteen seconds, the man's hands and feet were bound and he was gagged and hooded. Estevez tossed him over his shoulder and they began exfiltration. Now was the most dangerous part of the mission. They had to move fast, Andrew checked his watch, they had about fifteen minutes before the air strike was supposed to hit. And that was with a five minute comfort zone in case it hit early.

They sprinted down the steps and through the barracks, "Apollo, are we clear for exfil?"

"Route's clear." With that knowledge, they booked it out of the barracks like the devil himself was on their tails. Within five minutes, they were outside of the compound's perimeter. Within ten they'd rendezvoused with Dunn. They were in the helo just as the fireworks started, and forty nine insurgents disappeared in a ball of fire.

"Wish they all went this smooth, eh boss?"

Andrew nodded. "Smooth, yeah, but if I find out this was a million dollar boondoggle just so that a congressman can catch a couple of votes in the next election, I'm killing someone without authorization."

By god, Andrew thought.

I need a cup of coffee.

 **Okay guys, I know that it's been forever. I kind of gave up on this story for a while because this chapter was a lot better the first time I wrote it, but that didn't save correctly, so I dropped it and just finished it today on a whim.**

 **R &R people.**


	12. Wake Up Calls

There are very few ways to wake up that are quite as pleasant as after a night of vigorous sex. The pleasant ache in the muscles, the slow ebbing away of drowsiness, it was hands down the best way to wake up in Aliza's opinion. She rolled over, expecting a warm soft skinned blonde, but found only empty sheets. It shouldn't have been surprising, plenty of those who shared Aliza's bed were gone before she woke. Lily was almost always gone in the morning so she could catch an early flight. For some reason, Tracey struck her as a late sleeper. Ah well, Aliza thought, Tracey was right, I did need a good lay.

And by god, Tracey hadn't disappointed. She was, by far, the best sub that Aliza had in over a year. She'd played the game perfectly, resisting in all the right places, giving in at all the right times. Contrary to what most thought, a sub's role wasn't just to take whatever a domme threw at them. It was okay for amateurs, and even for the adept it wasn't a bad experience. But it got… boring, BDSM was all about the game, the fantasy. Yes, it's a game where one person is designated to lose, but any professional athlete or veteran sub will tell you, there's a big difference between losing and throwing the game.

The best thing by far had been the fact that Tracey was clearly a natural submissive and knew it. That, more than anything else was what made last night more enjoyable than any of the others since Aliza had arrived in Los Santos. Someone who was uninitiated in BDSM tended to have trouble letting go, the sex was good, but it required a very slow pace and a lot of working through the nervousness. In BDSM, if one person isn't having a good time, neither person can. And with two dominants, it was a power struggle, neither willing to cede control to the other. But an experienced sub that knew their preference, that was the best sex in the world.

Aliza pulled herself out of her musings and stretched like a cat, her bones popping like cracking ice. Then she noticed that one of her robes was gone. Maybe Tracey hadn't pulled a disappearing act. She grabbed her kimono and slipped it on, tying the belt. Then she smelled the deliciously familiar scent of Latin cooking. She stepped out into the main room of her apartment where she found a very beautiful blonde with damp hair in her kitchen putting the finishing touches on a plate of huevos rancheros.

"Oh hey, I hope you don't mind, I figured I'd make some breakfast." Tracey's cheeks colored slightly as she realized she'd dominated Aliza's kitchen without asking.

"A beautiful blonde making Latin food in my kitchen after a night of passionate sex, what's there to mind?" Aliza was deeply aware of the meaning that Tracey making breakfast had. You didn't stick around and make breakfast for a one night stand, you did that if you were starting a relationship. For the moment, Aliza was more than willing to give that a shot. "Where does a girl like you learn to cook?"

"Cookbooks, cooking shows, a few classes, and a little help from my maid. Drunk dad and drugged out mom, remember? I had a little brother to take care of, so it was kind of a sink or swim kind of thing."

That made sense, "I thought you hated your little brother, 'a stoned out perv mentally stunted at the age of thirteen."

Tracey sprinkled ground pepper over the eggs as the finishing touch. "Well yeah, but he's still my little brother, no matter how much he needs his ass kicked."

Breakfast was delicious, Aliza had to hand it to Tracey, she was an amazing cook. At the very least, she could cook amazing huevos rancheros. The conversation was easy and light, comparing the idiot celebrities that Tracey hung out with in Los Santos to the idiot celebrities that Aliza had spent time with on the Liberty City party circuit. When they were finished and had cleaned up, Aliza went to get a shower. When she got out, she found Tracey had gone, leaving a note saying that her father had called and that apparently her brother had gotten into trouble again and he wanted her home, it also had her phone number and address on it.

Aliza shook her head, family dysfunction magnified by money. It was a story older than the Romans. She ran through her messages on her phone. Simeon had a fresh list of cars that he wanted, Lamar wanted her to help with some ideas he had to impress the high ranking members of the Families, and Gerald wanted to talk to her about something that he wasn't willing to say over the phone. None of that sounded appealing to her right now, she marked Simeon's list as read, she sent Lamar a text saying that she was busy today and to run them by Franklin before doing anything, another text went to Gerald telling him that they could meet up tonight, naming a time and a place.

With that business attended to, she went into her study and went through the eight different news sources she subscribed to. The American government was still deadlocked, the Middle East was still a mess, a heroin shipment had been seized in the port of Los Santos, the usual stuff. Nothing too odd, but David's presence still hung on her mind. Whatever had happened, whatever summit had been hit, and Aliza was sure that a summit had been hit, it was just the beginning.

She sighed, it may be the beginning of something huge, but she wasn't going to learn anything right now. There was nothing she could do until David read her in, unless she hit up some of her contacts. But she wasn't willing to trade favors for something she was already going to get. Still, she hated that part of intelligence work, hated letting someone else be in control. She was a dominatrix for crying out loud, she was the dominant one, she was always in control. Shaking her head, Aliza got up, she needed a few dozen laps in the pool to clear her head.

….

It was dark. He couldn't figure out whether it was the room or if he was unconscious again. The bonds on his wrists and ankles that restrained him to the chair were soft leather. That wasn't a good sign, soft leather wouldn't leave ligature marks. He knew from the methodology that it had been Seals that grabbed him, he'd been one after all. If they were planning on legitimately prosecuting him, or even just tossing him in Gitmo, he would be handcuffed. Soft leather meant that he was being held in a black site by people who held no legal connection to the United States government.

He didn't know how long he'd been in there. The room, the darkness, the lack of sound, of smells, of anything to latch onto. It was near complete sensory deprivation. He knew how it worked, he'd been through SERE, this was to soften him up. Once they'd let him stew for a while, then they would come in and start asking questions. After that, it would depend on who was in charge of the interrogation. Some liked the new way, pumping the subject full of drugs to transcend the conscious mind and making it impossible to resist, turning the whole thing into more of a medical procedure than anything else. Others were old school, sticking to the greatest hits, waterboarding, a set of jumper cables in uncomfortable places, amateur dental work, the works.

In all honesty, he was more of the latter. In the environments he was expected to work in, you usually had to work with what you were given. That, and it was more satisfying to rip someone's teeth out with a pair of pliers than to hook them up on an I.V. of sodium pentothal. In any case, he was prepared for either scenario. He had a foolproof plan to get through the interrogation.

Finally, the lights all came on at once, sensory overload, another parlor trick. The hood was violently ripped off of his head. He blinked to help his eyes adjust and rolled his neck to loosen the sore muscles. A woman sat before him in an unflattering gray pantsuit. She was flanked by burly men in blue collared shirts. The woman's face was severe, making it pretty clear how this meeting was going to go.

"Your name is Ronald Porter, up until 2005, you were a BUDS Instructor at USNSWC. You were given a dishonorable discharge because you were caught having sex with the seventeen year old daughter of an admiral. Since then, you've been offering a crash course in advanced warfare to everyone from corporate security firms to the insurgents whose camp we pulled you out of." Of course she brings that up. Ronald rolled his eyes. It was the 'we know everything about you' bit.

"Now listen, let's get one thing straight. She came on to me while I was visiting the admiral. It was her eighteenth birthday party, what was I supposed to think? How was I supposed to know they were having the party two weeks before her actual birthday? Who does that?"

The woman just glared at him. "I don't give a damn about that. You no longer exist. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you died along with everyone else in the airstrike on that camp. That means we can officially make you our bitch. You will give us everything on your employers, the only question is this. Will you do it the easy way or the hard way?"

Really, did she have to go and use that dumb old cliché. It was a cool line the first time he heard it back in the eighties. Now it was just annoying, it had been used too many times. Regardless, it was time to put his plan to get through this into place. "Alright," he said, "I choose the easy way."

The woman looked dumbstruck. He could understand it, no professional ever just gave it up. She got herself together pretty quick, he had to give her that. She most likely assumed it was a trick, that he was about to spit out a couple of dozen lies to buy himself time. Boy was she in for a surprise.

"I'll tell you everything you want to know, but I'll expect a deal in return. I'm going to need a new identity, fully backstopped, and twelve million dollars." It was a bold move for a man tied to a chair. But hey, as the SAS said, who dares wins. Ronald leaned back in his chair and tried to look as relaxed and smug as possible.

"You're in no position to be demanding anything. You're officially dead, we have all the time in the world to find out what you know. And you and I both know that you'll crack. Everyone does, it's just a matter of what's required." It was true, every man had his breaking point, Ronald wouldn't deny that.

"True, but you and I both know how messy that is. I'll throw out a whole bunch of bullshit and you'll have to double check everything I say against current intelligence. It'll take weeks just to break through my defenses and actually start learning anything, even then, you'll never get everything. I'm a pretty fit guy, but I'm not nineteen anymore, the old ticker doesn't work as well as it used to. My heart will give out before you even start getting to the good stuff. This way works out better for the both of us."

The woman looked unconvinced. "I think we can manage. You're right, we won't get everything. But we're good at this, so we'll get most of it. Anything we miss, we'll be able to get somewhere else, so no, I think we'll do things the hard way."

It looked like it was time to play his ace. "Oh really, well then, I guess you don't care to know why the entire threat matrix went dark for a month. And you don't want to know about the Los Santos network. And you certainly don't want to know who the man who got away from the hit on the financial counterterrorism summit."

That certainly caught her attention. "You don't know who that is, you're bluffing. We've been beating every bush there is. No one knows who that was. He's a ghost."

Ronald felt his confidence building, he had them. "He is a ghost, you guys have let an entire network of ghosts slip right under your noses. There are only two people alive who know who got off that boat, one of them is that person, and the other is me." She still didn't look entirely convinced. She wanted proof, "He jumped off the back of the ship, it was a jackknife dive."

He saw it in her eyes before it crossed her lips. She hid it well, but he saw it. He'd won, he knew that he had. Finally, she said it.

"I'll take this to my superiors."

 **So now we find out who the SEALs grabbed. Oh and by the way, the grab was one of the ops that Ed mentioned being greenlit during his meeting with Ben in the SCIF. I had another event planned for this chapter, but I decided against it for now. I might still use it, but maybe not.**

 **R &R People.**


	13. Before The Hunt

The camp was hidden in the mountains of Montana. Officially, it was a hunting camp, there was a lot of good game in the area. Maybe that's what made it a favorite meeting place for them. They were hunters, they liked matching their skills up against other predators. Though he had to say, he felt a great deal more respect for the four legged variety than the usual prey.

Or perhaps it was the camp's second purpose. It reminded them of the old days. Here was where they trained the SOG teams. The stoic warriors of the Special Operations Group. There was a hierarchy of covertness in the world of clandestine operations. A kind of inverted pyramid, with the most official being at the top and the most covert at the bottom.

The top level was comprised of legitimate military and police actions, the kind of thing that included mounds of paperwork and Congressional Medals of Honor. Below that you had Special Forces operations, things that couldn't make the papers until after they'd happened but were eventually expected to come out into the open. Below that were 'official' covert operations, handlers and assets, people who had diplomatic covers who got PNGed and sent home if shit went sideways while their assets' releases were negotiated. Beneath them were the unofficial covert operations, operatives without diplomatic covers who were responsible for handling whatever couldn't be done by the official operatives. Beneath them, lay the SOG, the black ops teams that served as the muscle to the unofficial operatives. And at the very bottom were the blackest of the black, the kind of operations that could never come out into the open, performed by the kind of people that the public could never know about, people like Aliza Brennan and Niko Bellic.

Ed stubbed out his cigarette on the railing of the second floor balcony. He'd been through the inverted pyramid, from top to bottom. He'd joined the army right out of high school, at the time he'd just been another farm boy from a town too small to put on a map who didn't want to spend the rest of his life working the family farm. He wondered, if he could go back in time to that day when he'd hitched a ride with his buddies to the army recruiting station and told his younger self exactly what lay in his future, would it have changed anything? Probably not, he decided, his younger self would have probably told him to fuck off and gone ahead anyway.

His subordinate cleared her throat behind him. Karen stood there in one of her ugly-as-hell pantsuits, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. It had only been four years since they'd recruited her, but she seemed to have aged twice that since then. It had to have been Niko, every operative had that one operation. The one that where the water went over your head, the one that gnaws at your guts and ruins your marriage. The one that you spent long nights going over again and again with a bottle of booze, agonizing over every decision you made and wondering how it could have played out differently. For Karen, it had been Niko, for Ed, it had been a three month operation in Istanbul. If Ben hadn't dragged him out of the basement of that heroin den, he'd be dead, that Ed was certain of.

He shook his head, he couldn't focus tonight for some reason. Early onset Alzheimer's maybe… now there's a pleasant thought. Ed caught himself before his mind went off on another tangent and turned to his subordinate. "So give me the rundown on Ronald Porter." Ed knew all there was to know about the man of course, but he found it was always best to start these briefings with established facts, then building up from there.

"Ronald Porter, born in North Carolina in 1963, no living family members, got a bachelor's degree in English literature on an ROTC scholarship. Navy after college, ended up with the teams. Apparently he was good, a Navy Cross, a silver star, and a legion of merit. Became a BUDs instructor in 2000, dishonorable discharge in 2005 after he was caught sleeping with and admiral's seventeen year old daughter." Karen tossed one of the files on the desk between them and moved on to the next one.

"After his discharge, he put his skills as an instructor on the open market. He started out with the usual gigs, training private military contractors for a couple of different companies. After a year of that, he realized he could make a lot more money working with less legitimate groups. That's when he came onto the agency's radar. Since then, he's trained Somali pirates in refined hijacking procedures, he's trained central African warlords in tactics and strategy, Chechen rebels, cartel siccarios, we have photo evidence he was there when Gadhafi was killed. The list goes on and on, and that's just what we have confirmed. Basically, he's had a hand in training every major paramilitary group that could afford him in the past six years." Another file went on the desk. Karen opened the last, and thinnest, folder.

"He was grabbed as part of one of a dozen other operations that were greenlit by the gang of eight after the Finance Summit Hit." Ed grimaced, it already had a name, and not even a very creative one at that. Karen either didn't notice or pretended not to because she just kept talking. "A SEAL team pulled him out of an insurgent training camp in Afghanistan shortly before two Joint Strike Fighters blew it to kingdom come."

Well, that covered what they knew for sure, and as was often the case with intelligence it was incredibly useful in every area except the one where it was needed. "And he says that he was involved with the hit on the summit?" Once again, something Ed already knew. Now he wanted to see how Karen presented the information. Different perspectives turned up different facts.

"Yes, he claims he can point us straight to the man behind the hit. He also claims that we've missed an entire network in Los Santos." Already sensing his next question, Karen answered it. "He's provided intel on seven possible targets so far. Those are all confirmed, and we're working on confirming other intel he's provided. Considering his resume, the intel this guy provides could be a gold mine. And he says that all of that is just the piddly shit. He won't open up about the LS network or the summit hit until we give him what he wants."

Ed lit up a fresh cigarette and turned back to the balcony. Snow was coming down at a good pace now. Ben would be here in the morning, he'd insist on running with the men, if only to make the rest of the attendees at this little meeting look bad. Ed would have to join him, people would be amazed at the level of schoolyard bullshit that happened at these things. As he watched the ashes fall from his cigarette, he decided that no, they probably wouldn't. Politics was always full of schoolyard bullshit, even kids still in actual schoolyards knew that. What would surprise them would be the way the cliques were divided up.

Most people would probably expect that it was a matter of politics. To a degree, it was, but what decided it was mostly based on personal relationships and favor trading. Ed was more likely to side with Ben on an issue over his counterpart at the DIA, his counterpart at DGSE was more likely to side with the BND over MI6. It was all schoolyard bullshit based on who did what for who, who did what to who, and who was on whose side back in the old days. And damn it… he'd gone off on a tangent again. Ah well, he decided, best to let it run its course, the idea would come.

That was a skill he'd learned to use over the years. If he couldn't focus on a subject, it was best to just let his train of thought go where it may and he would reach the conclusion he needed eventually. The one thing that stuck in Ed's craw about the whole system, or more accurately the current thing that stuck in his craw, it changed with every meeting, was the Bureau. The group that would be meeting at the camp tomorrow would all be people he knew. The world of intelligence, for all it's vast complexities, was small, and the operations aspect of it smaller still. Every one of his counterparts had been around since the old days, most of them had followed rather similar paths to reach the positions of power they all currently occupied.

Daniel Anderson had been one of them, a good one too. He and Ed had served together in Vietnam, they'd both brought home wives after the withdrawal. Daniel's marriage had been far more successful than Ed's, Daniel's first and only wife had been crying at his funeral, Ed's first wife of three had left him in 1976. But then again, Daniel had never gone nearly as deep into the black bag part of the business as Ed had. The, still unknown, assailant had broken into Daniel's hospital room after he'd gotten out of surgery and injected the man with enough oxygen to cause an embolism. It was quick and professional, he probably would have gotten away clean if it weren't for a young nurse doing her rounds early so she could leave for a date. The bastard had shot her in the head with a silenced pistol, then took out two members of Daniel's security detail when they rushed in with clean headshots. He was out the window before anyone else could respond, after that, he disappeared. They still weren't sure how he'd done it.

The full face mask, hooded sweatshirt, and baggy sweatpants made a physical description impossible. The gloves meant no fingerprints, the rope he'd used was standard climbing rope that could've come from anywhere. Ballistics were a no go, the gun they recovered was spread in pieces among various dumpsters and trashcans throughout the area around the hospital. It had been stolen from a drug dealer, who had stolen it from an illegal gun dealer, who in turn had gotten it off of a hijacked shipment from a weapons manufacturing company. No witnesses had seen him coming or going, no camera footage. It had been a pro job.

Ed sighed, a professional hitter takes you out right after the tumor in your brain is successfully removed. Some guys get all the luck, and all of it bad. Dan's right hand man was still there, Ed wasn't sure he could trust him, but Dan vouched for him. The problem was that he hadn't gotten Dan's old position, the position had become more public in the last decade and thus more political, so the job went to the professional ass kisser Steven Haines, who he definitely didn't trust.

It just didn't click right. Haines was a corrupt bastard, but he was a popular corrupt bastard. He may be a shitty cop, but he played the political game deftly. But even then, he wasn't a sure thing, he might have made a short list, but he wouldn't have the position locked up. Unless… Damn, Ed clenched his teeth. Unless he had a heavy weight in Washington, either a high power senator on Judiciary or one of the major donors. Which would mean a Washington powerhouse backed a terrorist attack against the U.S. and its allies. If that was the case, this shit was going to get nasty.

But one problem at a time, Ed told himself. If Porter's intel was good, then Haines had allowed an entire terrorist network to become entrenched on U.S. soil with no one the wiser. Haines wasn't an ideologue, he had to be doing this for money, or if he had a heavy weight behind him, power. And a corrupt pig like Haines would be greedy, so it was likely he was offering coverage to other criminal organizations on the side. They needed to wipe out the network in LS, they needed to get Haines and whoever was backing him, and they needed to get whoever was behind the hit on the summit and retrieve the drive.

Edward's scowl deepened. Every operation was at it's simplest when it was just an idea on the drawing board, it always became more complicated, and this one was plenty complicated already. He finally turned back to Karen. "Karen, you did the interrogation. Tell me, what do you think? Is Porter telling the truth, or is he fucking with us?"

Karen stiffened, this could be a cluster fuck if she was wrong. She forced herself to relax and looked her boss directly in the eyes. "Sir, the man has given us a lot of valuable intel already. Do I think that we should trust him; no, he's a mercenary ruthless enough to sell out his own mother. And that's why I think he's being genuine, the man has little to no concept of loyalty, thus he holds no loyalty to his former employers. He'll play any card he's got to come out on top, and right now I think he's holding a royal flush."

"Then give him what he wants, set up the identity, pull the money from one of the black ops funds. Tell him that if he ever gets back into the game again, it had better be on our side, or next time it'll be a bullet to the head instead of a bag over the head." Ed tossed another cigarette into the snow, the cleaners would be pissed at him. He had work to do, he had to prepare for the briefing tomorrow.

"Get me a brief on the targets he's given us, check any of the intel that you haven't already and add any new confirmed targets to the brief. I'll need it to present to the meeting tomorrow. Also, I want security triple checked, we just had one summit hit, I don't want an attack on the summit to talk about the summit attack." It was unlikely, but over the years Ed had realized that god loved irony.

"Also, have our people ready to move, once I've gotten everyone on board at the meeting, we're going to hit every target we know of."

"We've been putting off this bloodletting for far too long."

 **So let it begin, justice comes in crimson rivers. You know, I'm thinking of doing something different for the next chapter where this bloodletting shall be displayed. Experimenting with something new.**

 **I had to change this chapter a lot because I couldn't decide where I wanted to go with it. It's pretty expositional to, but that's just because Edward's mind is like mine, it bounces around a lot before reaching any conclusions.**

 **What do you guys think?**

 **R &R people**


	14. Song of the New Generation

Aliza was a devout lover of music, she could enjoy almost any kind just as long as it met one incredibly important standard. The music had to be performed well. She'd been in her church choir as a kid, she'd heard classical in Carnegie Hall, she'd heard techno in in all the best clubs from Paris to Moscow, country music in Nashville, J-pop in Tokyo, jazz in New Orleans. She'd been exposed to all kinds of music, and she could honestly say that if the musicians were doing a good job, she would be having a good time.

Coffee house talent nights were, by their nature, not a sure thing when it came to good music. The odds varied from city to city of course. She and her friends had frequented the coffee houses of Paris, and she loved every minute of it. Of course Paris was a city of art and culture that loved it's poets, painters, and musicians. LS was a city where a nice set of breasts were often considered a strong substitute for actual talent. Not that you couldn't have both, Aliza thought with a small laugh as she caught her eyes in the rearview mirror.

But she did not have high hopes for this evening, but one of the friends that Tracey had made in rehab was playing tonight. And Tracey had asked her to come. Actual relationships involved things like this, or at least Aliza remembered that they did. In all honesty, she hadn't actually tried to date anyone since she graduated high school. She'd had a lot of sex, certainly, but those had all been one night stands and friends with benefits sorts of things.

Thus she found herself pulling up the drive of the De Santa estate to pick up her date. It was a nice enough house, one of dozens of other mcmansions that were built by the noveau wealthy before the real estate bubble popped and the US economy took a nosedive. She liked Spanish style well enough, but like most American mansions she'd been to, it lacked the personality of Isak's estate in Israel. It seemed less a home and more a symbol of wealth, but considering what she knew about Tracey's family, that shouldn't have been surprising.

She stepped out of her car, smoothed out her jacket, checked to make sure that her blades were securely concealed in their sheathes, and stepped up to the front door. Her highly sharpened senses caught the sound of screaming. Not distress, joy, or sex, she thought as her mind judged the tone and went down the mental list. Anger, definitely anger, it was muffled by the door, but she could still hear it. A man and a woman, likely Tracey's parents, were arguing rather heatedly. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but her training kicked in before she could raise her hand to the door bell. No intelligence gathering opportunity should be immediately overlooked, Ben's voice came from the recesses of her brain. So she listened.

The man's voice came first. "Oh yeah, I'm the bad guy, all I did was give you a big fancy house and a shit ton of money! All so you can go and bang my fucking proctologist!"

Then the woman's, even through the door Aliza could hear the hypocritical indignation. "It's not my fault you're a washed up psychopath who can't satisfy me anymore, that's why you go to your whores! Richard has magic hands, you could learn from him."

"Yeah, magic hands that've been up the asses of half the men in this fucking city. No thank you, I'll leave those lessons to him and his buddies down at the gay bar!"

"Would you guys shut the hell up already? My date is supposed to pick me up soon and I don't want you guys fucking embarrassing me." There was Tracey, apparently she hadn't been exaggerating about the home life.

"Is he the bastard who put those bruises on your neck the other night?" The male voice again, "I'm going to kill that little bastard when I get my hands on him."

"Daddy!" Deciding that she would hear no more of interest, Aliza pressed the doorbell.

"There's the little shit now, I'll teach him to hurt my daughter!"

The doors were flung open in front of her. The man who she assumed was Tracey's father was of average height and weight for a man his age, but he carried himself like he knew how to fight. He favored his right side, if he threw a punch, it would come from there, Aliza mentally noted. Flared nostrils, contracted pupils, stiff posture, his body language screamed anger as much as his voice had. The anger morphed to confusion. Instead of the rich pretty boy, such as Mark Ashford, he'd been expecting, he found Aliza. He looked around, probably assuming that Aliza was with another, more masculine, individual.

After a moment of this, Aliza smiled and extended her hand. "Hello, you must be Tracey's father, my name is Aliza Brennan. I'm your daughter's girlfriend. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man was thrown for a loop, that much was certain. Having knocked him off balance, she pressed her advantage.

"I'm supposed to pick up Tracey. We're going to a coffee shop to see one of her friends sing. Is she ready yet?" He was still trying to process what she'd just told him, he'd clearly been unaware that his daughter was bisexual. She stepped around him, inviting herself in.

The inside of the house was exactly what you'd expect after seeing the outside. Chandeliers, Spanish color accents, she caught sight of a living room with a more modern style of decoration through an adjacent door. A grand stairway with a wrought iron banister led up to a second floor. Her mind was in full psychoanalytic mode. The woman who had to be Tracey's mother stood off in the doorway that she assumed led to the kitchen.

It all made sense. The marriage had obviously long since fallen apart, she could tell from the bitterness in the eyes of the wife that it had been a long time since they were happy. The wife couldn't leave the husband because he held all the money, and everything was probably in his name. She'd already ruined her chances of a profitable divorce by cheating, so what she'd heard about probably wasn't the first time that the wife had cheated.

The husband refused to accept that his marriage had failed, thus he didn't leave his wife even if she cheated on him. Considering he didn't deny the whores comment, he was probably cheating as well. His overbearing defense of his daughter meant that he still cared about his family. And because of this, he refused to acknowledge the dysfunction. The fact that he was so surprised at the revelation of his daughter's sexual preferences confirmed what Tracey said about him being emotionally distant.

In less than five minutes she'd figured out the entire story. It was as stereotypical as the drama of rich people could get. Tracey stepped out of the kitchen, moving around her mother. She was dressed more modestly than she usually was, California winters were nothing like East Coast or Midwestern winters, but they had their cold nights. Tracey was a knockout in anything, and especially in nothing. She was more attractive dressing down in a white sweater and designer jeans than most girls were in their best club attire.

"Aliza!" Tracey grinned and flung her arms around her date. Aliza knew the whole thing was overdone for the benefit of Tracey's parents. The sudden French kiss caught her by surprise though. Still, she went along with it. She wasn't usually one for PDA, but if this was how Trace wanted to come out to her parents, then that was her choice.

"Nice to see you again too Trace, we should get going if we don't want to be late." Tracey nodded and bid her parents a terse farewell, then she was out the door. "It was nice meeting you." Aliza said, then made her exit quickly, not wanting to get caught up in the scene that was obviously seconds away from unfolding.

She slipped around the father once again and was out and in her car within ten seconds. Tracey was already in the passenger seat waiting for her. "Sorry about that, my parents can be so…" She paused, unsure what to say. Aliza saved her the trouble.

"Tense, don't worry about it. You warned me that your family wasn't exactly of the fifties sitcom variety." Aliza put the car in drive and set off. The drive was quick, mostly taken up by Tracey talking about her dance class. The coffee house wasn't far, it was one of those places that charged fifty bucks for a cup of five dollar coffee.

It was filled with the crowd that one would expect at a coffee house talent night. Starving artists, hipsters, wannabe screenwriters, wannabe singers, and a few amateur models. She bought them a couple of overpriced cups of coffee. They made conversation with the people Tracey knew and mainly tried to avoid hipsters trying to push whatever 'new truth' they'd discovered. It wasn't exactly Aliza's idea of a good time, but as was the give and take of a relationship.

The first few acts were about as good as she expected, that is, not very. A tone deaf singer who received more applause for her low cut top than her voice was up first. The second was a poet who ended his performance by tearing up his poem and throwing the pieces at the crowd like confetti. The third was a model who did some kind of interpretive dance, while she couldn't exactly interpret it, Aliza had to give her credit for her flexibility. Tracey's friend was the fourth act, a young blonde woman playing lead guitar for a small band. The song opened with a few organ notes, then the woman began to sing

 _Let us turn out thoughts today to Martin Luther King_

 **Gloire A Dieu Refugee Camp, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Operation: Vengeful Missionary**

"Overlord, we have visual confirmation."

"Roger Echo, you are clear to enact the solution."

At that moment, five Delta Force operators burst out of the back of a covered truck and each fired off a three round burst, killing four African men in military fatigues. The assembled crowd scattered in all directions. One of the operators moved forward and felt the warlord's neck with a gloved hand while one of his colleagues untied the captives the warlord had been about to execute. Six shots had caught the warlord center mass, the operator looked to his colleagues and gave a thumbs up.

"Livingston, Overlord, Livingston."

 _And recognize that there are ties between us, all men and women living on the Earth._

 _Ties of hope and love, sister and brotherhood, that we are bound together_

 _In our desire to see the world become a place in which our children can grow free and strong._

 **Hotel Archambaunt, Paris, France, Operation: Magdalene**

Mathias couldn't believe his luck as he stood on the balcony to his penthouse suite. First the Seal gets killed, leaving all of the money that he'd hidden with Mathias with no one to claim it, no one except Mathias of course. Twelve million American dollars just fell into his lap. Then his Arab clients come to him looking to hide huge deposits, meaning a huge percentage for him as a handling fee. He didn't know how those extremist lunatics had gotten their hands on so much money, he didn't care, they were making him richer than his wildest dreams.

Then he felt the third greatest thing that had happened to him this week lay her hands on his back. Apparently his Arab friends had sent her, he hadn't thought the Sauds had it in them. But in she'd came, and best of all, she'd slipped in without anyone seeing her, he could do whatever he wanted to her and no one would care. Then he felt the third greatest thing that had happened to him this week shove him over the balcony. He was too surprised to even scream before he hit the hard asphalt fifteen stories below.

 _We are bound together by the task that stands before us and the road that lies ahead._

 _We are bound and we are bound._

 **Fifty thousand feet above Southern Syria, Operation: Fist of God**

Mikel sat in the cockpit of his F-16 Fighting Falcon, cruising along at 391 miles per hour. His twin brother, Josif was his wingman tonight. They were both Yugoslavian by birth, but their birth parents had been killed in the war. They had been luckier than most orphaned by that atrocity, they'd been adopted as infants and grown up in a life of wealth in Israel. That was why, they both agreed, they needed to repay their adopted nation.

"Approaching target."

"Copy Leviathan, you are cleared hot."

"Confirmed, initiating attack vector. You ready Ziz?"

"Let's get this done Lev."

Approximately one minute later, an entire Hezbollah training camp was struck from the face of the earth in a ball of hellfire. Four hours later, Mikel and Josif were safe on Israeli soil.

 _There is a feeling like the clenching of a fist_

 _There is a hunger in the center of the chest_

 _There is a passage through the darkness and the mist_

 _And though the body sleeps the heart will never rest_

 **Twenty thousand feet over Chechnya, Operation: Woodsman**

The Reaper drone cruised over its target 194 miles per hour. Its camera zoomed in on the small convoy of vehicles traveling along an old dirt road below, giving its pilots thousands of miles away a clear picture.

"Eyes on the objective."

"Engage at your discretion," the voice came over the radio.

"Master arm on, weapons hot."

"Three, two, one, rifle." A hellfire missile shot off the drone. "Time of flight, twelve seconds."

The missile caught the center vehicle, the explosion decimating it and damaging the other two vehicles.

"Good kill."

 _Shed a little light, oh Lord, so that we can see, just a little light, oh Lord._

 _Wanna stand it on up, stand it on up, oh Lord,_

 _wanna walk it on down, shed a little light, oh Lord._

 _Can't get no light from the dollar bill, don't give me no light from a TV screen._

 _When I open my eyes I wanna drink my fill from the well on the hill,_

 _do you know what I mean?_

 **Coastal Region of Somalia, Operation: Maynard**

The waves crashed against the beach. As one of the waves receded, five U.S. Navy Seals appeared out of the surf, fanning out as their training taught them. The next wave brought five more, and the third wave bringing the final five. The Seals were led by Lieutenant Commander Andrew Daniels. Further along the beach, a similar process was occurring, though the warriors emerging out of the surf over there were members of the elite British Special Boat Service, the naval counterparts of the more widely known Special Air Service. By the time it was done there were thirty five professional killers on the beach.

Their mission was simple, assault the compounds of four warlords who were backing piracy, and capture or kill them. Civilian casualties were to be avoided whenever possible. Any and all security forces employed by their primary targets were to be considered targets of opportunity. Local law enforcement and military were off limits. It was a standard in-and-out surgical strike, get in, kill the bad guys, get out, albeit on a larger than usual scale.

This was the kind of operation Andrew liked.

 _Shed a little light, oh Lord, so that we can see, just a little light, oh Lord._

 _Wanna stand it on up, stand it on up, oh Lord,_

 _Wanna walk it on down, shed a little light, oh Lord._

 _There is a feeling like the clenching of a fist, there is a hunger in the center of the chest._

 _There is a passage through the darkness and the mist_

 _And though the body sleeps the heart will never rest._

 **Beirut, Lebanon, Operation: Great Prostitute**

Khalid Al Hadawi stepped out of the bombed out apartment building. Beirut had healed as a city, but a few scars of the old days still remained. He was a professional recruiter for a number of Jihadist groups. That meant he found burnt out teenagers willing to strap on suicide vests or climb into cars filled with explosives and blow themselves up in crowded marketplaces on the promise that their shitty lives would be replaced with glorious afterlives. He was on his way to a meeting with one of his colleagues, one who he particularly disliked. This colleague had performed one of the greatest coups in recent history, and he hadn't included Khalid or any of their top colleagues. The disrespect of one so young… it was almost too much to bear. The fact that he also hadn't shared the fruits of his labors with his brothers yet, should have been a death sentence, if only he weren't so damn good at what he did.

He checked all the usual places when he got to his car. The undercarriage, the backseat, under the front seats, the trunk, under the hood, all of the places a bomber would usually hide a deadly package. The one place he didn't check was the pouch on the back of the passenger seat. It was a common feature in most modern cars, but it was easy to forget if one didn't use it for anything. This lack of memory was fatal, as once he climbed into the driver's seat, an observer in a nearby alley sent a text message from a disposable cell phone. Khalid Al Hadawi died as his car went up in a ball of flame.

 _Oh, Let us turn our thoughts today to Martin Luther King_

 _and recognize that there are ties between us._

 _All men and women living on the Earth, ties of hope and love, sister and brotherhood._

The song reached its conclusion and the entire audience stood up and applauded.

 **Ok guys, I'm not sure about this. I've never been good at song fics, but I tend to visualize all my chapters and the song just seemed to fit. But still, I'm not sure about it.**

 **By the way, Spikes, yeah, I like to bounce around. I grew up on Tom Clancy and am an ardent fan of Vince Flynn. I love the idea of a hundred different things happening at the same time on a global scale, which is the only way I can imagine espionage working. But Aliza gets more focus in the coming chapters.**

 **So R &R people.**

 **The song is Shed A Little Light by James Taylor.**


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